My Heart's So Full Of Joy, That

If The Faults Of Men In Orders Are Only To Be Judged Among Themselves, They Are All In Some Sort Parties; For, Since They Say The Honour Of Their Order Is Concerned In Every Member Of It, How Can We Be Sure That They Will Be Impartial Judges?

What Precious Drops Are Those, Which Silently Each Other's Track Pursue, Bright As Young Diamonds In Their Faint Dew?

Dead Men Tell No Tales.

Love Is Not In Our Choice But In Our Fate.

Like Pilgrims To Th' Appointed Place We Tend; The World's An Inn, And Death The Journey's End.