For Honesty Coupled To Beauty,

I Thought My Heart Had Been Wounded With The Claws Of A Lion.

Every Good Servant Does Not All Commands.

I Had Rather Be A Kitten And Cry Mew Than One Of These Same Metre Ballet-mongers.

I Am Thy Father's Spirit; Doom'd For A Certain Term To Walk The Night And, For The Day, Confin'd To Fast In Fires, Till The Foul Crimes, Done In My Days Of Nature, Are Burnt And Purg'd Away.

Weariness Can Snore Upon The Flint When Resting Sloth Finds The Down Pillow Hard.