Ill News Are Swallow-winged, But What Is

Giants In Their Promises, But Those Obtained, Weak Pigmies In Their Performance.

Virgin Me No Virgins! I Must Have You Lose That Name, Or You Lose Me.

Shall This Nectar Run Useless, Then, To Waste? Or ... These Lips, That Open Like The Morn, Breathing Perfumes, On Such As Dare Approach Them, Be Untouch'd? They Must--nay, 'tis In Vain To Make Resistance-- Be Often Kissed And Tasted.

Conscience And Wealth Are Not Always Neighbors.

From The King To The Beggar, By Gradation, All Are Servants; And You Must Grant, The Slavery Is Less To Study To Please One, Than Many.