Why What A Fool Was I To

He's A Soldier; And For One To Say A Soldier Lies, Is Stabbing.

Lechery, Lechery; Still, Wars And Lechery: Nothing Else Holds Fashion.

Is Man No More Than This? Consider Him Well. Thou Ow'st The Worm No Silk, The Beast No Hide, The Sheep No Wool, The Cat No Perfume. Here's Three On's Are Sophisticated. Thou Art The Thing Itself; Unaccommodated Man Is No More Than Such A Poor, Bare, Forked Animal As Thou Art.

Every Offense Is Not A Hate At First.

I Loved Ophelia. Forty Thousand Brothers Could Not, With All Their Quantity Of Love, Make Up My Sum.