Scorn, At First, Makes After-love The More.

Or Art Thou But / A Dagger Of The Mind, A False Creation, / Proceeding From The Heat-oppressed Brain?

So We'll Live, And Pray, And Sing, And Tell Old Tales, And Laugh At Gilded Butterflies.

Angels Are Bright Still, Though The Brightest Fell. Though All Things Foul Would Wear The Brows Of Grace, Yet Grace Must Still Look So.

To Be Direct And Honest Is Not Safe.

Zounds! Sir, You Are One Of Those That Will Not Serve God If The Devil Bid You.