Still Follow Sense, Of Ev'ry Art The

A Tree Is A Nobler Object Than A Prince In His Coronation-robes.

And Die Of Nothing But A Rage To Live.

You Beat Your Pate, And Fancy Wit Will Come: Knock As You Please, There's No Body At Home.

Fix'd Like A Plant On His Peculiar Spot, To Draw Nutrition, Propagate And Rot.

The Meeting Points The Sacred Hair Dissever From The Fair Head, Forever, And Forever! Then Flashed The Living Lightning From Her Eyes, And Screams Of Horror Rend Th' Affrighted Skies.