What A Deformed Thief This Fashion Is.

Have Patience, And Endure

Diseased Nature Oftentimes Breaks Forth In Strange Eruptions.

Simply The Thing That I Am Shall Make Me Live.

But Whate'er You Are That In This Desert Inaccessible, Under The Shade Of Melancholy Boughs, Lose And Neglect The Creeping Hours Of Time; If You Have Ever Looked On Better Days, If Ever Been Where Bells Knoll'd To Church, If Ever Sat At Any Good Man's Feast, If Ever From Your Eyelids Wiped A Tear, And Know What 'tis To Pity And Be Pitied, Let Gentleness My Strong Enforcement Be. . . .

Every Why Has A Wherefore.