To Have Joy, One Must Share It.

I Was Accused Of Every Monstrous Vice By Public Rumour And Private Rancour; My Name, Which Had Been A Knightly Or Noble One, Was Tainted. I Felt That, If What Was Whispered, And Muttered, And Murmured, Was True, I Was Unfit For England; If False, England Was Unfit For Me.

If Ancient Tales Say True, Nor Wrong These Holy Men.

Who Tracks The Steps Of Glory To The Grave?

The Reading Or Non-reading A Book Will Never Keep Down A Single Petticoat.

Where Are The Forms The Sculptor's Soul Hath Seized? In Him Alone, Can Nature Show As Fair?