Determine On Some Course More Than A

If Circumstances Lead Me, I Will Find Where Truth Is Hid, Though It Were Hid Indeed Within The Centre.

There's No More Faith In Thee Than In A Stewed Prune.

Love's Not Time's Fool, Though Rosy Lips And Cheeks Within His Bending Sickle's Compass Come; Love Alters Not With His Brief Hours And Weeks, But Bears It Out Even To The Edge Of Doom. If This Be Error And Upon Me Prov'd, I Never Writ, Nor No Man Ever Lov'd.

Though Age From Folly Could Not Give Me Freedom, It Does From Childishness.

The Will Of Man Is By His Reason Sway'd.