The restlesse state renuer of my smart, The labours salue increasing my sorrow: The bodies ease and troubles of my hart, Quietour of mynde mine unquiet foe: Forgetter of paine remembrer of my woe, The place of sleepe wherein I do but wake: Besprent with teares my bed I thee forsake.
"The Arte of English Poesie"
George Puttenham
And so, in the waning twilight, Tom Slade, liar and Forgetter of his friends, built a camp-fire, on this first night of his lonely sojourn at Temple Camp.
"Tom Slade at Black Lake"
Percy Keese Fitzhugh
Would you mind telling me how I might become such an accomplished Forgetter?"
"A Woman Named Smith"
Marie Conway Oemler