Striving To Better, Oft We Mar What’s

The Little Dogs And All, Tray, Blanch, And Sweetheart-see, They Bark At Me.

I Told You, Sir, They Were Red-hot With Drinking; So Full Of Valor That They Smote The Air, For Breathing In Their Faces, Beat The Ground For Kissing Of Their Feet.

O! Let Me Not Be Mad, Not Mad, Sweet Heaven; Keep Me In Temper; I Would Not Be Mad!

Dissembling Courtesy! How Fine This Tyrant Can Trickle When She Wounds!

Waste Not Thy Time In Windy Argument But Let The Matter Drop.