Downy Sleep, Death's Counterfeit.

Such Antics Do Not Amount To A Man.

Ask God For Temp'rance. That's Th' Appliance Only Which Your Disease Requires.

Fondling,' She Saith, 'since I Have Hemm'd Thee Here Within The Circuit Of This Ivory Pale, I'll Be A Park, And Thou Shalt Be My Deer; Feed Where Thou Wilt, On Mountain Or In Dale: Graze On My Lips, And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.

A Horse, A Horse, My Kingdom For A Horse!

April ... Hath Put A Spirit Of Youth In Everything.