Hereafter, In A Better World Than This,

The Barge She Sat In, Like A Burnish'd Throne, Burnt On The Water.

Whatever Praises Itself But In The Deed, Devours The Deed In The Praise.

Rest You Fair, Good Signior; Your Worship Was The Last Man In Our Mouths.

This Look Of Thine Will Hurl My Soul From Heaven.

O' Thinkest Thou We Shall Ever Meet Again? I Doubt It Not; And All These Woes Shall Serve For Sweet Discourses In Our Times To Come.