Fame Is No Plant That Grows On

In Those Vernal Seasons Of The Year When The Air Is Calm And Pleasant, It Were An Injury And Sullenness Against Nature Not To Go Out And See Her Riches, And Partake In Her Rejoicing With Heaven And Earth.

Chaos Umpire Sits And By Decision More Embroils The Fray By Which He Reigns: Next Him High Arbiter Chance Governs All.

God Is Thy Law, Thou Mine.

Still Paying, Still To Owe. Eternal Woe!

What Neat Repast Shall Feast Us, Light And Choice, Of Attic Taste?