The People Are The City.

Great Men Should Drink With Harness On Their Throats.

A Wretched Soul, Bruised With Adversity, We Bid Be Quiet When We Hear It Cry. But Were We Burd'ned With Like Weight Of Pain, As Much Or More We Should Ourselves Complain: So Thou, That Hast No Unkind Mate To Grieve Thee, With Urging Helpless Patience Wouldst Relieve Me; But If Thou Live To See Like Right Bereft, This Fool-begged Patience In Thee Will Be Left.

Love All, Trust A Few, Do Wrong To None.

No Evil Lost Is Wailed When It Is Gone.

There's Not The Smallest Orb Which Thou Behold'st But In His Motion Like An Angel Sings.