But I Will Be, A

Zounds! Sir, You Are One Of Those That Will Not Serve God If The Devil Bid You.

If I Lose My Honor, I Lose Myself: Better I Were Not Yours Than Yours So Branchless.

If I Could Write The Beauty Of Your Eyes And In Fresh Numbers Number All Your Graces, The Age To Come Would Say, 'this Poet Lies; Such Heavenly Touches Ne'er Touch'd Earthly Faces.'

Beware The Leader Who Bangs The Drums Of War In Order To Whip The Citizenry Into A Patriotic Fervor.

An Angel; Or, If Not, An Earthly Paragon.