When Death Doth Close His Tender Dying

Stones Have Been Known To Move And Trees To Speak.

O, What Damned Minutes Tells He O'er Who Dotes, Yet Doubts, Suspects, Yet Fondly Loves!

A Devil, A Born Devil On Whose Nature, Nurture Can Never Stick, On Whom My Pain, Humanly Taken, All Lost, Quite Lost.

Is This A Vision? Is This A Dream? Do I Sleep?

I Had Rather Have A Fool To Make Me Merry Than Experience To Make Me Sad And To Travel For It Too!