Trust Reposed In Noble Natures Obliges Them

Parting Is Worse Than Death; It Is Death Of Love!

I Feel My Sinews Slackened With The Fright, And A Cold Sweat Trills Down All Over My Limbs, As If I Were Dissolving Into Water.

So The False Spider, When Her Nets Are Spread, Deep Ambushed In Her Silent Den Does Lie.

The People Have A Right Supreme To Make Their Kings, For Kings Are Made For Them. All Empire Is No More Than Pow'r In Trust, Which When Resum'd, Can Be No Longer Just. Successionm For The General Good Design'd, In Its Own Wrong A Nation Cannot Bind.

Him Of The Western Dome, Whose Weighty Sense Flows In Fit Words And Heavenly Eloquence.