No War Or Battle Sound Was Heard

Faithful Found Among The Faithless.

Our Cure, To Be No More; Sad Cure!

But Now My Task Is Smoothly Done, I Can Fly, Or I Can Run Quickly To The Green Earth's End, Where The Bow'd Welkin Slow Doth Bend, And From Thence Can Soar As Soon To The Corners Of The Moon.

If We Think We Regulate Printing, Thereby To Rectify Manners, We Must Regulate All Regulations And Pastimes, All That Is Delightful To Man.

Sweet Bird, That Shun The Noise Of Folly, Most Musical, Most Melancholy!