Come, Sing Now, Sing; For

Man Is His Own Star, And The Soul That Can, Render An Honest And A Perfect Man, Commands All Light, All Influence, All Fate: Nothing To Him Falls Early Or Too Late. Our Acts Are Angels Are, For Good Or Ill: Our Fatal Shadows That Walk By Us Still.

The Greatest Attribute Of Heaven Is Mercy; And 'tis The Crown Of Justice, And The Glory

'tis Virtue, And Not Birth That Makes Us Noble: Great Actions Speak Great Minds, And Such Should Govern.

I Find The Medicine Worse Than The Malady.

Death Hath So Many Doors To Let Out Life.