Oh, Thou Hadst Been A Wife For Shakspeare'S Self! No Head, Save Some World-Genius, Ought To Rest Above The Treasures Of That Perfect Breast, Or Nightly Draw Fresh Light From Those Keen Stars Through Which Thy Soul Awes Ours: Yet Thou Art Bound - O Waste Of Nature! - To A Craven Hound; To Shameless Lust, And Childish Greed Of Pelf; Athene To A Satyr: Was That Link Forged By The Father'S Hand? Man'S Reason Bars The Bans Which God Allowed. - Ay, So We Think: Forgetting, Thou Hadst Weaker Been, Full Blest, Than Thus Made Strong By Suffering; And More Great In Martyrdom, Than Throned As Caesar'S Mate. Eversley, 1851.