Here Will Be An Old

All's Well If All Ends Well.

I Am Sure, Though You Can Guess What Temperance Should Be, You Know Not What It Is.

As A Decrepit Father Takes Delight To See His Active Child Do Deeds Of Youth, So I, Made Lame By Fortune's Dearest Spite, Take All My Comfort Of Thy Worth And Truth.

Conscience Is A Thousand Swords.

Or Are You Like The Painting Of A Sorrow, A Face Without A Heart?