My Cousin's A Fool, And Thou Art

A Very Scurvy Fellow.

You Peasant Swain! You Whoreson Malt-horse Drudge!

In Limited Professions There's Boundless Theft.

For Night's Swift Dragons Cut The Clouds Full Fast, And Yonder Shines Aurora's Harbinger; At Whose Approach Ghosts Wandring Here And There Troop Home To Church-yards.... For Fear Lest Day Should Look Their Shames Upon, They Willfully Exile Themselves From Light, And Must For Aye Consort With Black Brow'd Night.

The Voice Of Parents Is The Voice Of Gods, For To Their Children They Are Heaven's Lieutenants.