Fool! I mean not That poor-souled piece of heroism, self-slaughter; Oh no! the miserablest day we live There's many a better thing to do than die!
Give me, instead of beauty's bust,
A tender heart, a loyal mind,
Which with temptation I could trust,
Yet never linked with error find.
Fashionability is a kind of elevated vulgarity.
Awake thee, my Lady-Love! Wake thee, and rise! The sun through the bower peeps Into thine eyes.
There's many a white hand holds an urn
With lovers' hearts to dust consumed.
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