You Will Never Live To My Age

Come Sleep! Oh Sleep, The Certain Knot Of Peace, The Baiting-place Of Wit, The Balm Of Woe, The Poor Man's Wealth, The Prisoner's Release, The Indifferent Judge Between The High And Low.

Poetry, A Speaking Picture To Teach And Delight.

Hope Itself Is A Pain, While It Is Overmatched By Fear.

We Become Willing Servants To The Good By The Bonds Their Virtues Lay Upon Us.

There Is Nothing So Great That I Fear To Do It For My Friend; Nothing So Small That I Will Disdain To Do It For Him.