Every Mortal Loss Is An Immortal Gain.

How Can The Bird That Is Born For Joy Sit In A Cage And Sing? How Can A Child, When Fears Annoy, But Droop His Tender Wing, And Forget His Youthful Spring?

One Law For The Lion And Ox Is Oppression.

I Must Create A System, Or Be Enslav'd By Another Man's.

But If At Church They Would Give Some Ale. And A Pleasant Fire Our Souls To Regale. We'd Sing And We'd Pray All The Live Long Day, Nor Ever Once From The Church To Stray.

My Silks And Fine Array, My Smiles And Languished Air, By Love Are Driv'n Away And Mournful Lean Despair Brings Me Yew To Deck My Grave: Such End True Lovers Have.