Welcome Ever Smiles, And Farewell Goes Out

We Are Oft To Blame In This, - 'tis Too Much Proved, - That With Devotion's Visage, And Pios Action We Do Sugar O'er The Devil Himself.

Hang There Like Fruit, My Soul, Till The Tree Die!

A Maiden Hath No Tongue--but Thought.

Do Not Swear By The Moon, For She Changes Constantly. Then Your Love Would Also Change.

You Are Not Wood, You Are Not Stones, But Men; And Being Men, Hearing The Will Of Caesar, It Will Inflame You, It Will Make You Mad.