Luck Is The Residue Of Design.

Nor Think Thou With Wind Of æry Threats To Awe Whom Yet With Deeds Thou Canst Not.

Our State Cannot Be Severed, We Are One, One Flesh; To Lose Thee Were To Lose Myself.

It Was That Fatal And Perfidious Bark, Built In Th' Eclipse, And Rigg'd With Curses Dark.

Of Calling Shapes, And Beck'ning Shadows Dire, And Airy Tongues That Syllable Men's Names.

These Two Imparadised In One Another's Arms, The Happier Eden, Shall Enjoy Their Fill Of Bliss On Bliss.