If Love Be Blind, It Best Agrees

Modest Wisdom Plucks Me From Over-credulous Haste.

Had I But Died An Hour Before This Chance, I Had Liv'd A Blessed Time; For, From This Instant, There's Nothing Serious In Mortality: All Is But Toys; Renown, And Grace Is Dead; The Wine Of Life Is Drawn, And The Mere Lees Is Left This Vault To Brag Of.

For A Noble Heart, The Most Precious Gift Becomes Poor, When The Giver Stops Loving.

Let The Sap Of Reason Quench The Fire Of Passion.

What Is Thy Sentence Then But Speechless Death.