Thou Art Figured Blind, And Yet We

The Soul Is Strong That Trusts In Goodness.

Shall This Nectar Run Useless, Then, To Waste? Or ... These Lips, That Open Like The Morn, Breathing Perfumes, On Such As Dare Approach Them, Be Untouch'd? They Must--nay, 'tis In Vain To Make Resistance-- Be Often Kissed And Tasted.

This Is The Jew That Shakespeare Drew.

They Are Only Safe That Know To Soothe The Prince's Appetite, And Serve His Lusts.

To Doubt Is Worse Than To Have Lost; And To Despair Is But To Antedate Those Miseries That Must Fall On Us.