Clay Scott Brown

“Soft, hence the blackheart under my sweet muse popular sentiments and blandishmentsmark your rather tranquil passionsso living were you, so sure was your stanceof everything put in and nothing to get outthose of your rule become of dullness and drearyrepetition, as smiles and frowns assured themKingdoms of Gold and Mirthbut in thine cloister is disease of all kindand make…”