But Shall We Wear These Glories For

O, But They Say, The Tongues Of Dying Men Enforce Attention, Like Deep Harmony: Where Words Are Scarce, They Are Seldom Spent In Vain: For They Breathe Truth, That Breathe Their Words In Pain. He, That No More Must Say, Is Listened More Than They Whom Youth And Ease Have Taught To Gloze; More Are Men's Ends Marked, Than Their Lives Before: The Setting Sun, And Music At The Close, As The Last Taste Of Sweets, Is Sweetest Last; Writ In Rememberance More Than Things Long Past

Appetite, A Universal Wolf.

The Best Quarrels, In The Heat, Are Cursed By Those That Feel Their Sharpness.

Love That We Cannot Have Is The One That Lasts The Longest,hurts The Deepest,but Feels The Strongest

Women Are Not In Their Best Fortunes Strong, But Want Will Perjure The Ne'er-touched Vestal.