It Is Virtue That Gives Glory; That

It Strikes! One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six. Enough, Enough, Dear Watch, Thy Pulse Hath Beat Enough. Now Sleep And Rest; Would Thou Could'st Make The Time To Do So Too; I'll Wind Thee Up No More.

Language Most Shows A Man, Speak That I May See Thee.

There Is No Greater Hell Than To Be A Prisoner Of Fear.

You Are Not Now To Think What's Best To Do, As In Beginnings, But What Must Be Done, Being Thus Enter'd; And Slip No Advantage That May Secure You. Let Them Call It Mischief; When It Is Past, And Prosper'd , 'twill Be Virtue.

For Whose Sake, Henceforth, All His Vows Be Such, As What He Loves May Never Like Too Much.