Tis Fate That Flings The Dice, And

But Shakespeare's Magic Could Not Copied Be; Within That Circle None Durst Walk But He.

To Die Is Landing On Some Distant Shore.

Let Grace And Goodness Be The Principal Loadstone Of Thy Affections.

I'm A Little Wounded, But I Am Not Slain; I Will Lay Me Down To Bleed A While. Then I'll Rise And Fight Again.

Trust On And Think To-morrow Will Repay; To-morrow's Falser Than The Former Day; Lies Worse; And While It Says, We Shall Be Blest With Some New Joys, Cuts Off What We Possest.