Tis Not The Many Oaths That Make

By My Troth, I Care Not; A Man Can Die But Once; We Owe God A Death And Let It Go Which Way It Will He That Dies This Year Is Quit For The Next

What's Gone, And What's Past Help, Should Be Past Grief.

Doubt Is A Thief That Often Makes Us Fear To Tread Where We Might Have Won.

Done To Death By Slanderous Tongue

Omission To Do What Is Necessary Seals A Commission To A Blank Of Danger; And Danger, Like An Ague, Subtly Taints Even Then When We Sit Idly In The Sun.