A Peevish Self-willed Harlotry It

My Way Of Life Is Fall'n Into The Sear And Yellow Leaf.

I Wonder Men Dare Trust Themselves With Men.

But Now Behold, In The Quick Forge And Working-house Of Thought, How London Doth Pour Out Her Citizens!

Such Antics Do Not Amount To A Man.

Rude Am I In My Speech, And Little Blessed With The Soft Phrase Of Peace.