I Must Be Gone And Live, Or

The Voice Of Parents Is The Voice Of Gods, For To Their Children They Are Heaven's Lieutenants.

O, Here Will I Set Up My Everlasting Rest And Shake The Yoke Of Inauspicious Stars From The World-wearied Flesh

She Is Your Treasure, She Must Have A Husband; I Must Dance Bare-foot On Her Wedding Day, And, For Your Love To Her, Lead Apes In Hell.

We Will All Laugh At Gilded Butterflies.

From Women's Eyes This Doctrine I Derive: They Sparkle Still The Right Promethean Fire; They Are The Books, The Arts, The Academes, That Show, Contain And Nourish All The World.