It Hurts Not The Tongue To Give

Alas, Their Love May Be Call'd Appetite. No Motion Of The Liver, But The Palate

Look On Beauty, And You Shall See 'tis Purchased By The Weight.

Steed Threatens Steed, In High And Boastful Neighs Piercing The Night's Dull Ear; And From The Tents The Armorers Accomplishing The Knights, With Busy Hammers Closing Rivets Up, Give Dreadful Note Of Preparation.

A High Hope For A Low Heaven: God Grant Us Patience!

Tell Them, That, To Ease Them Of Their Griefs, Their Fear Of Hostile Strokes, Their Aches, Losses, Their Pangs Of Love, With Other Incident Throes That Nature's Fragile Vessel Doth Sustain In Life's Uncertain Voyage, I Will Some Kindness Do Them.