Farewell, Fair Cruelty.

Rude Am I In My Speech, And Little Blessed With The Soft Phrase Of Peace.

I Know Them, Yea, And What They Weigh, Even To The Utmost Scruple; Scambling, Out-facing, Fashion-mong'ring Boys, That Lie, And Cog, And Flout, Deprave, And Slander, Go Antickly, And Show Outward Hideousness, And Speak Off Half A Dozen Dangerous Words, How They Might Hurt Their Enemies, If They Durst; And This Is All.

Their Savage Eyes Turned To A Modest Gaze By The Sweet Power Of Music.

A Great Cause Of The Night Is Lack Of The Sun.

Graze On My Lips; And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.