The flower-girl's prayer to buy roses and pinks, held out in the smoke, like stars by day.
We overstate the ills of life, and take Imagination... down our earth to rake.
Get work, get work; Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get.
Thou large-brain'd woman and large-hearted man.
And Chaucer, with his infantine Familiar clasp of things divine.
He's just, your cousin, ay, abhorrently, He'd wash his hands in blood, to keep them clean.