Death Hath So Many Doors To Let

Go Far - Too Far You Cannot, Still The Farther. The More Experience Finds You: And Go Sparing. One Meal A Week Will Serve You, And One Suit, Through All Your Travels; For You'll Find It Certain.

Wine Works The Heart Up, Wakes The Wit; There Is No Cure 'gainst Age But It. And 'tis Late And Cold, Stir Up The Fire; Sit Close And Draw The Table Nigher; Be Merry And Drink Wine That Is Old, A Hearty Medicine 'gainst The Cold.

Man Is His Own Star, And The Soul That Can, Render An Honest And A Perfect Man, Commands All Light, All Influence, All Fate: Nothing To Him Falls Early Or Too Late. Our Acts Are Angels Are, For Good Or Ill: Our Fatal Shadows That Walk By Us Still.

Then, Everlasting Love , Restrain Thy Will; 'tis God -like To Have Power, But Not To Kill.

It's Impossible To Ravish Me, I'm So Willing.