O, Let Me Kiss That Hand! King

Thou Frothy Tickle-brained Hedge-pig!

Never Shame To Hear What You Have Nobly Done

These Are The Forgeries Of Jealousy; And Never, Since The Middle Summer's Spring, Met We On Hill, In Dale, Forest, Or Mead, By Paved Fountain Or By Rushy Brook, Or In The Beached Margent Of The Sea, To Dance Our Ringlets To The Whistling Wind, But With Thy Brawls Thou Hast Disturbed Our Sport.

Let Those That Play Your Clowns Speak No More Than Is Set Down For Them.

Haply A Woman's Voice May Do Some Good When Articles Too Nicely Urged Be Stood On.