How Quick The Old Woe Follows A

How Fortune Brings To Earth The Over-sure!

Books Come At My Call And Return When I Desire Them; They Are Never Out Of Humor And They Answer All My Questions With Readiness. Some Present In Review Before Me The Events Of Past Ages; Others Reveal To Me The Secrets Of Nature. These Teach Me How To Live, And Those How To Die; These Dispel My Melancholy By Their Mirth, And Amuse Me By Their Sallies Of Wit. Some There Are Who Prepare My Soul To Suffer Everything, To Desire Nothing, And To Become Thoroughly Acquainted With Itself. In A Word, They Open The Door To All The Arts And Sciences.

Sameness Is The Mother Of Disgust, Variety The Cure.

Continued Work And Application Form My Soul's Nourishment. So Soon As I Commenced To Rest And Relax I Should Cease To Live.

What Name To Call Thee By, O Virgin Fair, I Know Not, For Thy Looks Are Not Of Earth And More Than Mortal Seems Thy Countenances