This Bud Of Love, By Summer's Ripening

There's Husbandry In Heaven; Their Candles Are All Out.

I'll Make My Heaven In A Lady's Lap

What Can Be Happier Than For A Man, Conscious Of Virtuous Acts, And Content With Liberty, To Despise All Human Affairs?

Ask God For Temp'rance. That's Th' Appliance Only Which Your Disease Requires.

So Well Thy Words Become Thee As Thy Wounds.