The Infanticide
Hark where the bells toll, chiming, dull and steady, The clock’s slow hand hath reached the appointed time. Well, be it so prepare, my soul is ready, Companions of the grave the rest for
Variety
Many are good and wise; yet all for one only reckon, For ’tis conception, alas, rules them, and not a fond heart. Sad is the sway of conception, from thousandfold varying figures, Needy and