Vile Worm, Thou Wast O'erlook'd Even In

Like One Who Draws The Model Of A House Beyond His Power To Build It Who, Half Through, Gives O'er, And Leaves His Part-created Cost A Naked Subject To The Weeping Clouds.

Though Yet Of Hamlet Our Dear Brother's Death The Memory Be Green.

Love For Thy Love , And Hand For Hand I Give.

But As The Unthought-on Accident Is Guilty To What We Wildly Do, So We Profess Ourselves To Be The Slaves Of Chance, And Flies Of Every Wind That Blows.

'twas Merry When You Wagered On Your Angling, When Your Diver Did Hang A Salt Fish On His Hook, Which He With Fervency Drew Up.