Fortune Reigns In Gifts Of The World.

Rumour Is A Pipe Blown By Surmises, Jealousies, Conjectures And Of So Easy And So Plain A Stop That The Blunt Monster With Uncounted Heads, The Still-discordant Wavering Multitude, Can Play Upon It.

And, If You Love Me, As I Think You Do, Let's Kiss And Part, For We Have Much To Do

Woe, Destruction, Ruin, And Decay; The Worst Is Death And Death Will Have His Day.

But Say, My Lord, It Were Not Regist'red, Methinks The Truth Should Live From Age To Age, As 'twere Retailed To All Posterity, Even To The General All-ending Day.

O, The Difference Of Man And Man! To Thee A Woman's Services Are Due.