Were It My Cue To Fight, I

O Thou That Dost Inhabit In My Breast, Leave Not The Mansion So Long Tenantless; Lest, Growing Ruinous, The Building Fall And Leave No Memory Of What It Was!

Things Bad Begun Make Strong Themselves By Ill.

With Mirth And Laughter Let Old Wrinkles Come.

Be Checked For Silence, But Never Taxed For Speech.

A High Hope For A Low Heaven: God Grant Us Patience!