And Where She Went, The Flowers Took

Love That Is Ignorant And Hatred Have Almost The Same Ends.

Heaven Prepares Good Men With Crosses; But No Ill Can Happen To A Good Man.

Success Hath Made Me Wanton.

Whom The Disease Of Talking Still Once Posses-seth, He Can Never Hold His Peace.

The Voice So Sweet, The Words So Fair, As Some Soft Chime Had Stroked The Air; And Though The Sound Had Parted Thence, Still Left An Echo In The Sense.