Who Covets More Is Evermore A Slave.

In Prayer The Lips Ne'er Act The Winning Part, Without The Sweet Concurrence Of The Heart.

Tis Not The Food, But The Content, That Makes The Table's Merriment.

Then Be Not Coy, But Use Your Time; And While Ye May, Go Marry: For Having Lost But Once Your Prime, You May For Ever Tarry.

Next, When I Cast Mine Eyes And See That Brave Vibration Each Way Free, O How That Glittering Taketh Me!

I'll Write, Because I'll Give - You Critics Means To Live; For Should I Not Supply - The Cause, The Effect Would Die