My Hands Are Guilty, But My Heart

And Plenty Makes Us Poor.

He Trudged Along Unknowing What He Sought, And Whistled As He Went, For Want Of Thought.

Such Subtle Covenants Shall Be Made,till Peace It Self Is War In Masquerade.

But 'tis The Talent Of Our English Nation, Still To Be Plotting Some New Reformation.

By Education Most Have Been Misled; So They Believe, Because They Were Bred. The Priest Continues Where The Nurse Began, And Thus The Child Imposes On The Man.