The Good I Stand On Is My

Tut, Man, One Fire Burns Out Another's Burning; One Pain Is Less'ned By Another's Anguish; Turn Giddy, And Be Holp By Backward Turning; One Desperate Grief Cures With Another's Languish.

Report Of Fashions In Proud Italy Whose Manners Still Our Tardy-apish Nation Limps After In Base Imitation

Would The Cook Were O' My Mind!

What Are You Doing Sister? / Killing Swine.

O That My Tongue Were In The Thunder's Mouth! Then With Passion Would I Shake The World, And Rouse From Sleep That Fell Anatomy Which Cannot Hear A Lady's Feeble Voice, Which Scorns A Modern Invocation.