Go Hang Yourself, You Naughty Mocking Uncle!

I Thought My Heart Had Been Wounded With The Claws Of A Lion.

Every Man Has His Fault, And Honesty Is His.

Tis The Mind That Makes The Body Rich.

Let Fancy Still In My Sense In Lethe Steep; If It Be Thus To Dream, Still Let Me Sleep!

Make The Doors Upon A Woman's Wit, And It Will Out At The Casement; Shut That, And 'twill Out At The Key-hole; Stop That, 'twill Fly With The Smoke Out At The Chimney.