‘What is that, mother?’ ‘The funny man, child. His hands are black, but his heart… ‘May I touch him, mother?’ ‘T were foolishly done:

‘Who drives fat oxen should himsel… Who sings for nobles, he should no… There’s no _non sequitur_, I thin… And this is logic plain as a, b, c… Now, Hector Stuart, you’re a Sco…

Why ask me, Gastrogogue, to dine (Unless to praise your rascal wine… Yet never ask some luckless sinner Who needs, as I do not, a dinner?

He looked upon the ships as they All idly lay at anchor, Their sides with gorgeous workmen… The riveter and planker Republicans and Democrats,

Weep, weep, each loyal partisan, For Buckley, king of hearts; A most accomplished man; a man Of parts-of foreign parts. Long years he ruled with gentle sw…

Villain, when the word is spoken, And your chains at last are broken When the gibbet’s chilling shade Ceases darkly to enfold you, And the angel who enrolled you

Within my dark and narrow bed I rested well, new-laid: I heard above my fleshless head The grinding of a spade. A gruffer note ensued and grew

Attorney Knight, it happens so so… That lawyers, justifying cut-throa… For hire-calumniating, too, for go… The dead, dumb victims cruelly uns… Speak, through the press, to a tri…

I know not if it was a dream. I v… A city where the restless multitud… Between the eastern and the wester… Had reared gigantic fabrics, stron… Colossal palaces crowned every hei…

I Slept, and, waking in the years… Heard voices, and approaching when… Listened indifferently where a key Had lately been removed. An ancie… Said to her daughter: ‘Go to yond…

From pride, joy, hate, greed, mela… From any kind of vice, or folly, Bias, propensity or passion That is in prevalence and fashion, Save one, the sufferer or lover

Of life’s elixir I had writ, when… (Pray Heaven it spared him who th… Settled upon my senses with so dee… A stupefaction that men thought me… The centuries stole by with noisel…

Alas for ambition’s possessor! Alas for the famous and proud! The Isle of Manhattan’s best dres… Is wearing a hand-me-down shroud. The world has forgotten his glory;

In that fair city, Ispahan, There dwelt a problematic man, Whose angel never was released, Who never once let out his beast, But kept, through all the seasons’…

The apparel does _not_ proclaim th… Polonius lied like a partisan, And Salomon still would a hero se… If (Heaven dispel the impossible… He stood in a shroud on the hangma…