Set All Things In Their Own Peculiar

All Things Are Subject To Decay And When Fate Summons, Monarchs Must Obey.

My Love's A Noble Madness.

She, Though In Full-blown Flower Of Glorious Beauty, Grows Cold Even In The Summer Of Her Age.

New Vows To Plight, And Plighted Vows To Break.

There Is An Inimitable Grace In Virgil's Words, And In Them Principally Consists That Beauty Which Gives So Inexpressible A Pleasure To Him Who Best Understands Their Force. This Diction Of His, I Must Once Again Say, Is Never To Be Copied; And Since It Cannot, He Will Appear But Lame In The Best Translation.