The Poet Is The Nearest Borderer Upon

Silence In Woman Is Like Speech In Man.

Still May Syllables Jar With Time, Still May Reason War With Rhyme, Resting Never!

Great Honours Are Great Burdens, But On Whom They Are Cast With Envy, He Doth Bear Two Loads.

The Burnt Child Dreads The Fire.

Nor Shall Our Cups Make Any Guilty Men; But At Our Parting, We Will Be, As When We Innocently Met.