Ink Is The Blood Of The Printing-press.

Herbs, And Other Country Messes, Which The Neat-handed Phillis Dresses.

He That Has Light Within His Own Clear Breast May Sit In The Centre, And Enjoy Bright Day: But He That Hides A Dark Soul And Foul Thoughts Benighted Walks Under The Mid-day Sun; Himself His Own Dungeon.

All Seemed Well Pleased, All Seemed, But Were Not All.

Hide Me From Day's Garish Eye.

For So I Created Them Free And Free They Must Remain.