For You And I Are Past Our

The Poet's Eye, In A Fine Frenzy Rolling, Doth Glance From Heaven To Earth, From Earth To Heaven.

Oh, Injurious Love, That Respites Me A Life, Whose Very Comfort Is Still A Dying Horror

All's Well That Ends Well; Still The Fine's The Crown. Whate'er The Course, The End Is The Renown.

Defer No Time, Delays Have Dangerous Ends.

This Rudeness Is A Sauce To His Good Wit, Which Gives Men Stomach To Digest His Words With Better Appetite.