Small To Greater Matters Must Give Way.

Thus Hath The Candle Sing'd The Moth. O These Deliberate Fools!

So May I, Blind Fortune Leading Me, Miss That Which One Unworthier May Attain, And Die With Grieving.

Two Stars Keep Not Their Motion In One Sphere.

Love Thrives Not In The Heart That Shadows Dreadeth

But As The Unthought-on Accident Is Guilty To What We Wildly Do, So We Profess Ourselves To Be The Slaves Of Chance, And Flies Of Every Wind That Blows.