Live And Die In Aristotle's Works.

Who Hateth Me But For My Happiness? Or Who Is Honored Now But For His Wealth? Rather Had I, A Jew, Be Hated Thus, Than Pitied In A Christian Poverty.

Hell Hath No Limits, Nor Is Circumscribed In One Self Place, For Where We Are Is Hell, And Where Hell Is There Must We Ever Be.

Till Swollen With Cunning, Of A Self-conceit, His Waxen Wings Did Mount Above His Reach, And, Melting, Heavens Conspir'd His Overthrow.

Come Live With Me And Be My Love, And We Will All The Pleasures Prove, That Valleys, Groves, Hills, And Fields, Woods, Or Steepy Mountain Yields.

Above Our Life We Love A Steadfast Friend.