Ah! Why, Ye Gods, Should Two And

'tis Not A Lip, Or Eye, We Beauty Call, But The Joint Force And Full Result Of All.

Die Of A Rose In Aromatic Pain.

By Flatterers Besieged And So Obliging That He Ne'er Obliged.

Seas Roll To Waft Me, Suns To Light Me Rise; My Footstool Earth, My Canopy The Skies.

The Life Of A Wit Is A Warfare Upon Earth.