Of All The Flowers, Me Thinks A

What's His Offense? Groping For Trout In A Peculiar River.

Every Man Has Business And Desire, Such As It Is.

He That Commends Me To Mine Own Content Commends Me To The Thing I Cannot Get.

Thus Did I Keep My Person Fresh And New, My Presence, Like A Robe Pontifical, Ne'er Seen But Wondered At, And So My State, Seldom But Sumptuous, Showed Like A Feast.

I Will Despair, And Be At Enmity With Cozening Hope.