Virtue Is The Fount Whence Honour Springs.

Hell Hath No Limits, Nor Is Circumscribed In One Self Place, For Where We Are Is Hell, And Where Hell Is There Must We Ever Be.

There Is No Sin But Ignorance.

Hell Strives With Grace For Conquest In My Breast. What Shall I Do To Shun The Snares Of Death?

Fornication: But That Was In Another Country; And Besides, The Wench Is Dead.

Come Live With Me And Be My Love, And We Will All The Pleasures Prove, That Valleys, Groves, Hills, And Fields, Woods, Or Steepy Mountain Yields.