Had Sigh'd To Many, Though He Loved

Grief Should Be The Instructor Of The Wise; Sorrow Is Knowledge.

I Hate All Pain, Given Or Received; We Have Enough Within Us The Meanest Vassal As The Loftiest Monarch, Not To Add To Each Other's Natural Burden Of Mortal Misery.

Eternity Forbids Thee To Forget.

I See Before Me The Gladiator Lie.

Oh, Talk Not To Me Of A Name Great In Story; The Days Of Our Youth Are The Days Of Our Glory; And The Myrtle And Ivy Of Sweet Two-and-twenty Are Worth All Your Laurels, Though Ever So Plenty.