Astrologers That Future Fates Foreshow.

As The Twig Is Bent, So Grows The Tree.

Slave To No Sect, Who Takes No Private Road, But Looks Through Nature Up To Nature's God.

O Love! For Sylvia Let Me Gain The Prize, And Make My Tongue Victorious As Her Eyes.

While Pensive Poets Painful Vigils Keep, Sleepless Themselves, To Give Their Readers Sleep.

A Naked Lover Bound And Bleeding Lies!