Though I Love My Country, I Do

That Famish'd People Must Be Slowly Nurst, And Fed By Spoonfuls, Else They Always Burst.

The Thorns Which I Have Reap'd Are Of The Tree I Planted; They Have Torn Me, And I Bleed. I Should Have Known What Fruit Would Spring From Such A Seed.

Go Let Thy Less Than Woman's Hand Assume The Distaff Not The Brand.

I've Seen Your Stormy Seas And Stormy Women, And Pity Lovers Rather More Than Seamen.

Truth Is A Gem That Is Found At A Great Depth; Whilst On The Surface Of The World All Things Are Weighed By The False Scale Of Custom.