He That Commends Me To Mine Own

May Never Glorious Sun Reflex His Beams Upon The Country Where You Make Abode! But Darkness And The Gloomy Shade Of Death Environ You Till Mischief And Despair Drive You To Break Your Necks Or Hang Yourselves.

Bounty, Being Free Itself, Thinks All Others So.

Religious Canons, Civil Laws, Are Cruel; Then What Should War Be?

I Am Never Merry When I Hear Sweet Music.

You Are Not Wood, You Are Not Stones, But Men.