Come Knit Hands, And Beat The Ground

And Out Of Good Still To Find Means Of Evil.

I Sung Of Chaos And Eternal Night, Taught By The Heav'nly Muse To Venture Down The Dark Descent, And Up To Reascend.

Time Is The Subtle Thief Of Youth.

Let None Admire That Riches Grow In Hell; That Soil May Best Deserve The Precious Bane.

Retiring From The Popular Noise, I Seek This Unfrequented Place To Find Some Ease.