To Chloe's Breast Young Cupid

Man Has Closed Himself Up, Till He Sees All Things Thro' Narrow Chinks Of His Cavern.

Drive Your Cart And Plow Over The Bones Of The Dead.

The Grave Is Heaven's Golden Gate, And Rich And Poor Around It Wait; O Shepherdess Of England's Fold, Behold This Gate Of Pearl And Gold!

Shame Is Pride's Cloak.

Man Was Made For Joy And Woe, And When This We Rightly Know Through The World We Safely Go. Joy And Woe Are Woven Fine, A Clothing For The Soul To Bind.