Cursed Be The Hand That

I Am Wrapped In Dismal Thinking.

An Old Black Ram Is Tupping Your White Ewe

My Endeavors Have Ever Come Too Short Of My Desires. Yet Filed With My Abilities.

O Sleep, O Gentle Sleep, Nature's Soft Nurse, How Have I Frightened Thee, 1710. That Thou No More Will Weigh My Eyelids Down, And Steep My Senses In Forgetfulness?

How Use Doth Breed A Habit In A Man.