Hath Any Wronged Thee? Be Bravely Revenged;

The Fountain Of Beauty Is The Heart And Every Generous Thought Illustrates The Walls Of Your Chamber.

Sweet Phosphor, Bring The Daywhose Conquering Raymay Chase These Fogs;sweet Phosphor, Bring The Day!sweet Phosphor, Bring The Day!light Will Repaythe Wrongs Of Night;sweet Phosphor, Bring The Day!

Yet, Sluggard, Wake, And Gull Thy Soul No More With Earth's False Pleasures, And The World's Delight, Whose Fruit Is Fair And Pleasing To The Sight, But Sour In Taste, False As The Putrid Core: Thy Flaring Glass Is Gems At Her Half Light; She Makes Thee Seeming Rich, But Truly Poor: She Boasts A Kernel, And Bestows A Shell; Performs An Inch Of Her Fair-promis'd Ell: Her Words Protest A Heav'n; Her Works Produce A Hell.

If Thy Words Be Too Luxuriant, Confine Them, Lest They Confine Thee; He That Thinks He Never Can Speak Enough May Easily Speak Too Much. A Full Tongue And An Empty Brain Are Seldom Parted.

Hath Any Wounded Thee With Injuries? Meet Them With Patience. Hasty Words Rankle The Wound; Soft Language Dresses It.