Ev'n Wit's A Burthen, When It Talks

Courage From Hearts And Not From Numbers Grows.

He Wants Worth Who Dares Not Praise A Foe.

What I Have Left Is From My Native Spring; I've Still A Heart That Swells, In Scorn Of Fate, And Lifts Me To My Banks.

Thou Tyrant, Tyrant Jealousy, Thou Tyrant Of The Mind!

Beware Of The Fury Of The Patient Man.