If Others Had Not Been Foolish, We

Every Wolf's And Lion's Howl Raises From Hell A Human Soul.

If You Would Help Another Man, You Must Do So In Minute Particulars.

My Silks And Fine Array, My Smiles And Languished Air, By Love Are Driv'n Away And Mournful Lean Despair Brings Me Yew To Deck My Grave: Such End True Lovers Have.

Joy And Woe Are Woven Fine, A Clothing For The Soul Divine. Under Every Grief And Pine Runs A Joy With Silken Twine.

He Who Pretends To Be Either Painter Or Engraver Without Being A Master Of Drawing Is An Imposter.