We Do That In Our Zeal Our

I Am She, O Most Bucolical Juvenal, Under Whose Charge Are Placed The Milky Mothers Of The Herd.

Chess Is A Sad Waste Of Brains.

Marry In Haste, Repent At Leisure.

Vacant Heart, And Hand, And Eye, Easy Live And Quiet Die.

What Skilful Limner E'er Would Choose To Paint The Rainbow's Varying Hues, Unless To Mortal It Were Given To Dip His Brush In Dyes Of Heaven?