Tis Ill Talking Of Halters In The

For Historians Ought To Be Precise, Truthful, And Quite Unprejudiced, And Neither Interest Nor Fear, Hatred Nor Affection, Should Cause Them To Swerve From The Path Of Truth, Whose Mother Is History, The Rival Of Time, The Depository Of Great Actions, The Witness Of What Is Past, The Example And Instruction Of The Present, The Monitor Of The Future.

Poesy Is A Beauteous Damsel, Chaste, Honourable, Discreet, Witty, Retired, And Who Keeps Herself Within The Limits Of Propriety. She Is A Friend Of Solitude; Fountains Entertain Her, Meadows Console Her, Woods Free Her From Ennui, Flowers Delight Her; In Short, She Gives Pleasure And Instruction To All With Whom She Communicates.

The Eyes Those Silent Tongues Of Love.

It Is Not The Responsibility Of Knights Errant To Discover Whether The Afflicted, The Enchained And The Oppressed Whom They Encounter On The Road Are Reduced To These Circumstances And Suffer This Distress For Their Vices, Or For Their Virtues: The Knight's Sole Responsibility Is To Succour Them As People In Need, Having Eyes Only For Their Sufferings, Not For Their Misdeeds.

The Little Birds Have God For Their Caterer.