Passion Makes The Will Lord Of The

In Persons Grafted In A Serious Trust, Negligence Is A Crime.

Love Is A Smoke Made With The Fume Of Sighs.

We Cannot All Be Masters.

All Men's Faces Are True, Whatsome'er Their Hands Are.

My Falcon Now Is Sharp And Passing Empty, And Till She Stoop She Must Not Be Full-gorged, For Then She Never Looks Upon Her Lure.