They Met So Near With Their Lips

Who Alone Suffers Suffers Most I' Th' Mind, Leaving Free Things And Happy Shows Behind; But Then The Mind Much Sufferance Doth O'erskip When Grief Hath Mates, And Bearing Fellowship.

Yield Not Thy Neck To Fortunes Yoke, But Let Thy Dauntless Mind Still Ride In Triumph Over All Mischance.

Whatever Praises Itself But In The Deed, Devours The Deed In The Praise.

Set We Forward; Let A Roman And A British Ensign Wave Friendly Together. So Through Lud's Town March, And In The Temple Of The Great Jupiter Our Peace We'll Ratify, Seal It With Feasts. Set On There! Never Was A War Did Cease, Ere Bloody Hands Were Washed, With Such A Peace.

The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen Arrows Make.