For There's No Motion That Tends To

Sweets With Sweets War Not, Joy Delights In Joy.

My Endeavors Have Ever Come Too Short Of My Desires. Yet Filed With My Abilities.

From This Time Forth My Thoughts Be Bloody, Or Be Nothing Worth!

There's Not A Note Of Mine That's Worth The Noting.

The Southern Wind Doth Play The Trumpet To His Purposes; And, By His Hollow Whistling In The Leaves, Foretells A Tempest And A Blustering Day.