When Truth Kills Truth, O Devilish Holy

Be Not Too Tame Neither, But Let Your Own Discretion Be Your Tutor; Suit The Action To The Word, The Word To The Action.

A Man Cannot Make Him Laugh - But That's No Marvel; He Drinks No Wine.

Come, Lady, Die To Live.

Virtue Preserv'd From Fell Destruction's Blast, Led On By Heaven, And Crown'd With Joy At Last.

O Sleep! O Gentle Sleep! Nature's Soft Nurse, How Have I Frighted Thee, That Thou No More Wilt Weigh My Eyelids Down And Steep My Senses In Forgetfulness? Why Rather, Sleep, Liest Thou In Smoky Cribs, Upon Uneasy Pallets Stretching Thee, And Hush'd With Buzzing Night-flies To Thy Slumber, Than In The Perfum'd Chambers Of The Great, Under The Canopies Of Costly State, And Lull'd With Sound Of Sweetest Melody?