Welcome, Maids Of Honor, You Doe Bring

Men Are Suspicious; Prone To Discontent: Subjects Still Loathe The Present Government.

Hell Is No Other But A Soundlesse Pit, Where No One Beame Of Comfort Peeps In It.

Conquer We Shall, But, We Must First Contend! It's Not The Fight That Crowns Us, But The End.

Like Will To Like, Each Creature Loves His Kind.

Love Is Maintain'd By Wealth: When All Is Spent, Adversity Then Breeds The Discontent.