No Date Prefixed Directs Me

Into This Wild Abyss, The Womb Of Nature And Perhaps Her Grave.

So Shall The World Go On, To Good Malignant, To Bad Men Benign, Under Her Own Weight Groaning.

The Bird Of Jove, Stoop'd From His Aery Tour, Two Birds Of Gayest Plume Before Him Drove.

Wild Above Rule Or Art, Enormous Bliss.

Herbs, And Other Country Messes, Which The Neat-handed Phillis Dresses.