Look Like The Innocent Flower, But Be

Fight, Gentlemen Of England! Fight, Bold Yeomen! Draw, Archers, Draw Your Arrows To The Head! Spur Your Proud Horses Hard, And Ride In Blood; Amaze The Welkin With Your Broken Staves!

My Free Drift Halts Not Particularly, But Moves Itself In A Wide Sea Of Wax; No Levelled Malice Infects One Comma In The Course I Hold, But Flies An Eagle Flight, Bold And Forth On, Leaving No Tract Behind.

Look On Beauty, And You Shall See 'tis Purchased By The Weight, Which Therein Works A Miracle In Nature, Making Them Lightest That Wear Most Of It.

Heaven Would That She These Gifts Should Have, And I To Live And Die Her Slave.

If Your Mind Dislike Anything Obey It