My Love To Thee Is Sound, Sans

Keep Thy Foot Out Of Brothels, Thy Hand Out Of Plackets, Thy Pen From Lender's Books, And Defy The Foul Fiend.

O, Then, What Graces In My Love Do Dwell, That He Hath Turn'd A Heaven Unto Hell

I Cannot Do It Without Comp[u]ters.

O Jest Unseen, Inscrutable, Invisible, As A Nose On A Man's Face, Or A Weathercock On A Steeple.

If He Be So Resolved, I Can O'ersway Him; For He Loves To Hear That Unicorns May Be Betrayed With Trees And Bears With Glasses, Elephants With Holes, Lions With Toils, And Men With Flatterers