To Unpathed Waters, Undreamed Shores.

All That Glitters Is Not Gold; Often Have You Heard That Told: Many A Man His Life Has Sold But My Outside To Behold: Gilded Tombs Do Worms Enfold Had You Been As Wise As Bold, Your In Limbs, In Judgment Old, Your Answer Had Not Been In'scroll'd Fare You Well: Your Suit Is Cold.' Cold, Indeed, And Labour Lost: Then, Farewell, Heat And Welcome, Frost!

A Man I Am Cross'd With Adversity.

Bad Is The Trade That Must Play Fool To Sorrow, Ang'ring Itself And Others.

Angels Are Bright Still, Though The Brightest Fell.

The Big Round Tears Cours'd One Another Down His Innocent Nose, In Piteous Chase.