Thou Frothy Tickle-brained Hedge-pig!

We Bring Forth Weeds When Our Quick Minds Lie Still.

They Told Me I Was Everything. 'tis A Lie, I Am Not Ague-proof.

The Seasons Change Their Manners, As The Year Had Found Some Months Asleep And Leapt Them Over.

I Can No Other Answer Make, But, Thanks, And Thanks.

These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends And In Their Triump Die, Like Fire And Powder Which, As They Kiss, Consume