With Mirth In Funeral And With Dirge

Thus Hath The Candle Sing'd The Moth. O These Deliberate Fools!

That, Sir, Which Serves And Seeks For Gain, And Follows But For Form, Will Pack, When It Begins To Rain, And Leave Thee In A Storm.

Blind Is His Love, And Best Befits The Dark.

Condemn The Fault And Not The Actor Of It?

Beauty Lives With Kindness.