Were Kisses All The Joys In Bed,

Time Doth Transfix The Flourish Set On Youth And Delves The Parallels In Beauty's Brow.

Flout 'em, And Scout 'em; And Scout 'em, And Flout 'em; / Thought Is Free.

Misery Makes Sport To Mock Itself.

Silence Is The Perfect Herald Of Joy.

If Ever Thou Be'st Bound In Thy Scarf And Beaten, Thou Shalt Find What It Is To Be Proud Of Thy Bondage.