Some Innocents 'scape Not The Thunderbolt.

Fondling,' She Saith, 'since I Have Hemm'd Thee Here Within The Circuit Of This Ivory Pale, I'll Be A Park, And Thou Shalt Be My Deer; Feed Where Thou Wilt, On Mountain Or In Dale: Graze On My Lips, And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.

Foul Deeds Will Rise, Though All The Earth O'erwhelm Them, To Men's Eyes.

There Is A History In All Men's Lives.

Every Man Has His Fault, And Honesty Is His.

It Is Meant That Noble Minds Keep Ever With Their Likes; For Who So Firm That Cannot Be Seduced.