To Unpathed Waters, Undreamed Shores.

Why, Thou Deboshed Fish Thou...wilt Thou Tell A Monstrous Lie, Being But Half A Fish And Half A Monster?

Trifles Light As Air Are To The Jealous Confirmations Strong As Proofs Of Holy Writ.

For Though The Camomile, The More It Is Trodden On The Faster It Grows, Yet Youth, The More It Is Wasted, The Sooner It Wears.

Your Lordship, Though Not Clean Past Your Youth, Have Yet Some Smack Of Age In You, Some Relish Of The Saltiness Of Time.

When You Depart From Me Sorrow Abides And Happiness Takes His Leave.