My Nature Is Subdued To What It

Love Is Too Young To Know What Conscience Is.

The Web Of Our Life Is Of A Mingled Yarn, Good And Ill Together.

Small Cheer And Great Welcome Makes A Merry Feast.

O Thou That Dost Inhabit In My Breast, Leave Not The Mansion So Long Tenantless; Lest, Growing Ruinous, The Building Fall And Leave No Memory Of What It Was!

For He Was Likely, Had He Been Put On, To Have Proved Most Royally.