Men So Noble, However Faulty, Yet Should

What Is Light, If Sylvia Be Not Seen? What Is Joy If Sylvia Be Not By?

Be Checked For Silence, But Never Taxed For Speech.

Where Art Thou, Muse, That Thou Forget'st So Long / To Speak Of That Which Gives Thee All Thy Might?

Not Proud You Have, But Thankful That You Have. Proud Can I Never Be Of What I Hate, But Thankful Even For Hate That Is Meant Love.

Oh! That You Could Turn Your Eyes Towards The Napes Of Your Necks, And Make But An Interior Survey Of Your Good Selves.