Profit Is A Blessing, If It's Not

After Life's Fitful Fever He Sleeps Well. Treason Has Done His Worst. Nor Steel Nor Poison, Malice Domestic, Foreign Levy, Nothing Can Touch Him Further.

Nothing Can Seem Foul To Those Who Win.

Plenty And Peace Breed Cowards; Hardness Ever Of Hardiness Is Mother.

Why, All Delights Are Vain, But That Most Vain Which, With Pain Purchased, Doth Inherit Pain: As, Painfully To Pore Upon A Book, To Seek The Light Of Truth, Which Truth The While Doth Falsely Blind The Eyesight Of His Look.

I Have Unclasp'd To Thee The Book Even Of My Secret Soul.