This Thought Is As A Death.

See First That The Design Is Wise And Just: That Ascertained, Pursue It Resolutely; Do Not For One Repulse Forego The Purpose That You Resolved To Effect.

Some Cupid Kills With Arrows, Some With Traps.

O, Speak Again, Bright Angel! For Thou Art As Glorious To This Night, Being O'er My Head As Is A Winged Messenger Of Heaven

What To Ourselves In Passion We Propose, The Passion Ending, Doth The Purpose Lose.

How Sweet The Moonlight Sleeps Upon This Bank Here We Will Sit, And Let The Sounds Of Music Creep In Our Ears; Soft Stillness, And The Night Become The Touches Of Sweet Harmony