The Blushing Beauties Of A Modest Maid.

While I Am Compassed Round With Mirth, My Soul Lies Hid In Shades Of Grief, Whence, Like The Bird Of Night, With Half-shut Eyes, She Peeps, And Sickens At The Sight Of Day.

Death In Itself Is Nothing; But We Fear To Be We Know Not What, We Know Not Where.

Truth Is The Foundation Of All Knowledge And The Cement Of All Societies.

Chaucer Followed Nature Everywhere, But Was Never So Bold To Go Beyond Her.

For Your Ignorance Is The Mother Of Your Devotion To Me.