For Man May Pious Texts Repeat, And

A Man That's Fond Precociously Of Stirring , :;:; Must Be A Spoon.

Whilst Breezy Waves Toss Up Their Silvery Spray.

When Was Ever Honey Made With One Bee In A Hive?

For My Part, Getting Up Seems Not So Easy By Half As Lying.

Father Of Rosy Day, No More Thy Clouds Of Incense Rise; But Waking Flow'rs, At Morning Hours, Give Out Their Sweets To Meet Thee In The Skies.