And Nature Must Obey Necessity.

Give To A Gracious Message An Host Of Tongues, But Let Ill Tidings Tell Themselves When They Be Felt.

How Strange Or Odd Some'er I Bear Myself, As I Perchance Hereafter Shall Think Meet To Put An Antic Disposition On.

Before, I Loved Thee As A Brother, John, But Now, I Do Respect Thee As My Soul.

You Peasant Swain! You Whoreson Malt-horse Drudge!

Cold Indeed, And Labor Lost: Then Farewell Heat, And Welcome Frost!