Give me the avow'd, the erect, the manly foe, Bold I can meet—perhaps may turn his blow; But of all plagues, good heaven, thy wrath can send, Save, save, oh! save me from the Candid Friend!
I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.
