Cheerful Looks Make Every Dish A Feast,

I In My Own House Am An Emperor, And Will Defend What's Mine.

Before We End Our Pilgrimage, 'tis Fit That We Should Leave Corruption, And Foul Sin, Behind Us, But With Wash'd Feet And Hands, The Heathens Dar' Not Enter Their Profane Temples; And For Me To Hope My Passage To Eternity Can Be Made Easy, Till I Have Shook Off The Burthen Of My Sins In Free Confession, Aided With Sorrow, And Repentance For Them, Is Against Reason.

Detraction's A Bold Monster, And Fears Not To Wound The Fame Of Princes, If It Find But Any Blemish In Their Lives To Work On.

He Is Not Valiant That Dares Lie; But He That Boldly Bears Calamity.

Shall This Nectar Run Useless, Then, To Waste? Or ... These Lips, That Open Like The Morn, Breathing Perfumes, On Such As Dare Approach Them, Be Untouch'd? They Must--nay, 'tis In Vain To Make Resistance-- Be Often Kissed And Tasted.