Thou Detestable Maw, Thou Womb Of Death.

Then Hate Me When Thou Wilt, If Ever, Now.

Virtue Is Beauty, But The Beauteous Evil. Are Empty Trunks O'erflourished By The Devil.

Though Men Can Cover Crimes With Bold, Stern Looks, Poor Women's Faces Are Their Own Faults' Books.

A Beggar's Book Outworths A Noble's Blood.

For Precious Friends Hid In Death's Dateless Night.