Love Goes Toward Love.

Would I Were Dead, If God's Good Will Were So, For What Is In This World But Grief And Woe?

As Chaste As Is The Bud Ere It Be Blown.

All Surfeit Is The Father Of Much Fast.

You Jig, You Amble, And You Lisp.

Omission To Do What Is Necessary Seals A Commission To A Blank Of Danger; And Danger, Like An Ague, Subtly Taints Even Then When We Sit Idly In The Sun.