There Is A Budding Morrow In Midnight.

What Shocks The Virtuous Philosopher, Delights The Chameleon Poet.

Give Me Women, Wine And Snuff Until I Cry Out 'hold, Enough!' You May Do So San Objection Till The Day Of Resurrection; For Bless My Beard Then Aye Shall Be My Beloved Trinity.

A Moment's Thought Is Passion's Passing Knell.

How Beautiful, If Sorrow Had Not Made Sorrow More Beautiful Than Beauty's Self.

Young Playmates Of The Rose And Daffodil, Be Careful Ere Ye Enter In, To Fill Your Baskets High With Fennel Green, And Balm, And Golden Pines Savory Latter-mint, And Columbines.