A Baby Was Sleeping, Its

Sure My Love Is All Crostlike A Bud In The Frostand There's No Use At All In My Going To Bed,for 't Is Dhrames And Not Slape That Comes Into My Head!

For A Ballad's A Thing You Expect To Find Lies In.

For Dhrames Always Go By Conthraries, My Dear.

Reproof On Her Lip, But A Smile In Her Eye.

When Once The Itch Of Literature Comes Over A Man, Nothing Can Cure It But The Scratching Of A Pen. But If You Have Not A Pen, I Suppose You Must Scratch Any Way You Can.