Our Thoughts Are Ours, Their Ends None

The Violence Of Either Grief Or Joy, Their Own Enactures With Themselves Destroy.

I Understand Thy Kisses, And Thou Mine, And That's A Feeling Disputation.

When Death Doth Close His Tender Dying Eyes.

My Long Sickness Of Health And Living Now Begins To Mend, And Nothing Brings Me All Things.

Ingratitude Is Monstrous; And For The Multitude To Be Ingrateful Were To Make A Monster Of The Multitude; Of Which We Being Members, Should Bring Ourselves To Be Monstrous Members.