I Will Chide No Breather In The

You Are Not Wood, You Are Not Stones, But Men.

I Am Sure, Though You Can Guess What Temperance Should Be, You Know Not What It Is.

I’ll Look To Like, If Looking Liking Move; But No More Deep Will I Endart Mine Eye Than Your Consent Gives Strength To Make It Fly.

If I Were A Woman I Would Kiss As Many Of You As Had Beards That Pleased Me, Complexions That Liked Me And Breaths That I Defied Not

Be Lion-mettled, Proud, And Take No Care Who Chafes, Who Frets, Or Where Conspirers Are!