Your Face Is A Book, Where Men

My Joy Is Death- Death, At Whose Name I Oft Have Been Afeard, Because I Wish'd This World's Eternity.

To This Urn Let Those Repair That Are Either True Or Fair; For These Dead Birds Sigh A Prayer.

If I Had My Mouth, I Would Bite; If I Had My Liberty, I Would Do My Liking. In The Meantime, Let Me Be That I Am, And Seek Not Toalter Me.

The Bitter Past, More Welcome Is The Sweet.

You Are Strangely Troublesome.