Absence From Those We Love Is Self

Tis Not The Many Oaths That Make The Truth; But The Plain Single Vow, That Is Vow'd True.

I Am Thy Father's Spirit; Doom'd For A Certain Term To Walk The Night And, For The Day, Confin'd To Fast In Fires, Till The Foul Crimes, Done In My Days Of Nature, Are Burnt And Purg'd Away.

The Purest Treasure Mortal Times Can Afford Is A Spotless Reputation.

'tis Thought The King Is Dead; We Will Not Stay. The Bay Trees In Our Country Are All Wither'd.

It Is Silliness To Live When To Live Is Torment.