Death Is A Fearful Thing.

To Be In Love- Where Scorn Is Bought With Groans, Coy Looks With Heart-sore Sighs, One Fading Moment's Mirth With Twenty Watchful, Weary, Tedious Nights; If Haply Won, Perhaps A Hapless Gain; If Lost, Why Then A Grievous Labour Won; However, But A Folly Bought With Wit, Or Else A Wit By Folly Vanquished.

But Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade.

O England! Model To Thy Inward Greatness, Like Little Body With A Might Heart.

My Life, My Joy, My Food, My Ail The World!

And I Will Make It Felony To Drink Small Beer.