Thou Knowest, Winter Tames Man, Woman, And

All Pity Choked With Custom Of Fell Deeds.

Glory Is Like A Circle In The Water, Which Never Ceaseth To Enlarge Itself, Till, By Broad Spreading, It Disperse To Naught.

Wrong Hath But Wrong, And Blame The Due Of Blame.

That's A Valiant Flea That Dares Eat His Breakfast On The Lip Of A Lion.

O Love, Be Moderate, Allay Thy Ecstasy, In Measure Rain Thy Joy, Scant This Excess!