I Cannot Tell What The Dickens His

To Be Generous, Guiltless, And Of A Free Disposition Is To Take Those Things For Bird-bolts That You Deem Cannon-bullets.

And Simple Truth Miscalled Simplicity

We Must Be Brief When Traitors Brave The Field.

I Heard A Bustling Rumor Like A Fray, And The Wind Blows It From The Capitol.

Then Will I Raise Aloft The Milk-white Rose. For Whose Sweet Smell The Air Shall Be Perfumed.