Love Goes Toward Love.

I'll Note You In My Book Of Memory.

O, Grief Hath Changed Me Since You Saw Me Last, And Careful Hours With Time's Deformed Hand Have Written Strange Defeatures In My Face. But Tell Me Yet, Dost Thou Not Know My Voice?

Help, Master, Help! Here's A Fish Hangs In The Net, Like A Poor Man's Right In The Law; 'twill Hardly Come Out.

Opinion Crowns With An Imperial Voice.

Confess Yourself To Heaven, Repent What's Past, Avoid What Is To Come, And Do Not Spread The Compost On The Weeds To Make Them Ranker.