Fore God, You Have Here A Goodly

How Easy It Is For The Proper-false In Woman's Waxen Hearts To Set Their Forms!

In Struggling With Misfortunes Lies The True Proof Of Virtue.

Words To Deeds Cold Breath Gives.

Look, The World's Comforter, With Weary Gait, His Day's Hot Task Hath Ended In The West: The Owl, Night's Herald, Shrieks-'tis Very Late; The Sheep Are Gone To Fold, Birds To Their Nest; And Coal-black Clouds, That Shadow Heaven's Light, Do Summon Us To Part, And Bid Good Night.

The Golden Age Is Before Us, Not Behind Us.