Is not Precedent indeed a King of men? A Word from the Psalmist.
Stately, kindly, lordly friend Condescend Here to sit by me.
The tadpole poet will never grow into anything bigger than a frog; not though in that stage of development he should puff and blow himself till he bursts with windy adulation at the heels of the laureled ox.
His life is a watch or a vision Between a sleep and a sleep.
There is no safety-net to protect against attraction.
If you were Queen of pleasure And I were King of pain We'd hunt down Love together, Pluck out his flying-feather, And teach his feet a measure, And find his mouth a rein; If you were Queen of pleasure And I were King of pain.