Ma'm, architecture you're not skill'd in

Behind him came Health from her cottage of thatch, Where never physician had lifted the latch.

Too hard for any frog's digestion, To have his froghood call'd in question!

Night with all her negro train, Took possession of the plain; In an hearse she rode reclin'd. Drawn by screech-owls slow and blind: Close to her, with printless feet, Crept Stillness in a winding sheet.

Thus when a barber and collier fight, The barber beats the luckless collier—white; The dusty collier heaves his ponderous sack, And, big with vengeance, beats the barber—black. In comes the brick-dust man, with grime o’erspread, And beats …

Well of all dogs it stands confess'd, Your English bull dogs are the best.

For the flower glorifies God and the root parries the adversary. For the flowers have their angels even the words of God's Creation.