True Hope Is Swift, And Flies With

Value Dwells Not In Particular Will; It Holds His Estimate And Dignity As Well Wherein 'tis Precious Of Itself As In The Prizer.

A Ministering Angel Shall My Sister Be.

Poor Desdemona! I Am Glad Thy Father's Dead. Thy Match Was Mortal To Him, And Pure Grief Shore His Old Thread In Twain.

Our Jovial Star Reigned At His Birth.

A Merry Heart Goes All The Way, - A Sad One Tires Inan Hour.