All Hoods Make Not Monks.

Evermore Thanks, The Exchequer Of The Poor

A Man Can Die But Once.

Too Nice, And Yet Too True!

The Poet's Eye, In A Fine Frenzy Rolling, Doth Glance From Heaven To Earth, From Earth To Heaven.

The Very Instant I Saw You, Did My Heart Fly To Your Service; There Resides To Make Me Slave To It. ...mine Unworthiness, That Dare Not Offer What I Desire To Give, And Much Less Take What I Shall Die To Want.