I Find The Medicine Worse Than The

A Woman Friend! He That Believes That Weakness, Steers In A Stormy Night Without A Compass.

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.

Joys As Winged Dreams Fly Fast, / Why Should Sadness Longer Last? / Grief Is But A Wound To Woe; / Gentlest Fair, Mourn, Mourn No Moe.

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

The Greatest Attribute Of Heaven Is Mercy; And 'tis The Crown Of Justice, And The Glory