Our Holy Lives Must Win

His Neigh Is Like The Bidding Of A Monarch, And His Countenance Enforces Homage. He Is Indeed A Horse.

Small Herbs Have Grace, Great Weeds Do Grow Apace.

Let Fancy Still In My Sense In Lethe Steep; If It Be Thus To Dream, Still Let Me Sleep!

Give Thy Thoughts No Tongue.

Love Reasons Without Reason.