The Man Who Never In His Mind

The Stolen And Perverted Writings Of Homer & Ovid, Of Plato & Cicero, Which All Men Ought To Contemn, Are Set Up By Artifice Against The Sublime Of The Bible

If Others Had Not Been Foolish, We Should Be So.

I Have Conversed With The Spiritual Sun. I Saw Him On Primrose Hill

Since The French Revolution Englishmen Are All Intermeasurable One By Another, Certainly A Happy State Of Agreement To Which I Forone Do Not Agree.

O Autumn, Laden With Fruit, And Stained With The Blood Of The Grape, Pass Not, But Sit Beneath My Shady Roof; There Thou May'st Rest, And Tune Thy Jolly Voice To My Fresh Pipe; And All The Daughters Of The Year Shall Dance! Sing Now The Lusty Song Of Fruit And Flowers.