But Infinite In Pardon Is My Judge.

The Olive Grove Of Academe, Plato's Retirement, Where The Attic Bird Trills Her Thick-warbled Notes The Summer Long.

Thoughts That Voluntary Move Harmonious Numbers.

Though We Take From A Covetous Man All His Treasure, He Has Yet One Jewel Left; You Cannot Bereave Him Of His Covetousness.

What Honour That, But Tedious Waste Of Time, To Sit And Hear So Many Hollow Compliments And Lies.

A Boundless Continent, Dark, Waste, And Wild, Under The Frown Of Night Starless Expos'd.