I Am Not In The

To You Your Father Should Be As A God.

I Have Ventured, Like Little Wanton Boys That Swim On Bladders, This Many Summers In A Sea Of Glory, But Far Beyond My Depth. My High-blown Pride At Length Broke Under Me, And Now Has Left Me, Weary And Old With Service, To The Mercy Of A Rude Stream That Must For Ever Hide Me.

These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends And In Their Triump Die, Like Fire And Powder Which, As They Kiss, Consume

I Am Such A Tender Ass, If My Hair Do But Tickle Me, I Must Scratch.

O Excellent! I Love Long Life Better Than Figs.