But I Had Not Quite

I Have Seen A Thousand Graves Opened, And Always Perceived That Whatever Was Gone, The Teeth And Hair Remained Of Those Who Had Died With Them. Is Not This Odd? They Go The Very First Things In Youth And Yet Last The Longest In The Dust.

Fair Greece! Sad Relic Of Departed Worth! Immortal, Though No More! Though Fallen, Great!

Think Not I Am What I Appear.

One Hates An Author That's All Author.

But Every Fool Describes, In These Bright Days, His Wondrous Journey To Some Foreign Court, And Spawns His Quarto, And Demands Your Praise,-- Death To His Publisher, To Him 'tis Sport.