I Hourly Learn A Doctrine

I'll Note You In My Book Of Memory.

We Make Guilty Of Our Disasters The Sun, The Moon, And The Stars; As If We Were Villians By Compulsion.

Farewell The Plumed Troop, And The Big Wars That Make Ambition Virtue! O, Farewell! Farewell The Neighing Steed And The Shrill Trump, The Spirit-stirring Drum, Th' Ear-piercing Fife, The Royal Banner, And All Quality, Pride, Pomp, And Circumstance Of Glorious War!

There Is No Vice So Simple But Assumes Some Mark Of Virtue On His Outward Parts.

Preferment Goes By Letter And Affection, And Not By Old Gradation, Where Each Second Stood Heir To Th's First.