I Pity Them Greatly, But I Must

Fancy, Like The Finger Of A Clock, Runs The Great Circuit, And Is Still At Home.

Fashion, Leader Of A Chatt'ring Train, Whom Man For His Own Hurt Permits To Reign Who Shifts And Changes All Things But His Shape, And Would Degrade Her Vot'ry To An Ape, The Fruitful Parent Of Abuse And Wrong, Holds A Usurp'd Dominion O'er His Tongue, There Sits And Prompts Him With His Own Disgrace, Prescribes The Theme, The Tone, And The Grimace, And When Accomplish'd In Her Wayward School, Calls Gentleman Whom She Has Made A Fool.

The Only Amaranthine Flower On Earth Is Virtue; The Only Lasting Treasure, Truth.

As If The World And They Were Hand And Glove.

Grief Is Itself A Medicine.