No Friend To Love Like A Long

Each Moment Of A Happy Lover's Hour Is Worth An Age Of Dull And Common Life.

'twas But A Dream, Yet By My Heart I Knew, Which Still Was Panting, Part Of It Was True: Oh How I Strove The Rest To Have Believed; Ashamed And Angry To Be Undeceived!

Here Lies A Proof That Wit Can Never Be Defence Enough Against Mortality

Tis Love Alone Can Make Our Fetters Please.

Nothing Is More Capable Of Troubling Our Reason, And Consuming Our Health, Than Secret Notions Of Jealousy In Solitude.