Policy Sits Above Conscience.

Weary With Toil, I Haste Me To My Bed The Dear Repose For Limbs With Travel Tired; But Then Begins A Journey In My Head To Work My Mind, When Body's Work's Expir'd: For Then My Thoughts-from Far Where I Abide- Intend A Zealous Pilgrimage To Thee, And Keep My Drooping Eyelids Open Wide, Looking On Darkness Which The Blind Do See: Save That My Soul's Imaginary Sight Presents Thy Shadow To My Sightless View, Which, Like A Jewel Hung In Ghastly Night, Makes Black Night Beauteous And Her Old Face New. Lo! Thus, By Day My Limbs, By Night My Mind, For Thee, And For Myself No Quiet Find.

To Mourn A Mischief That Is Past And Gone Is The Next Way To Draw New Mischief On.

Men Should Be What They Seem; Or Those That Be Not, Would They Might Seem None!.

If She Lives Till Doomsday, She'll Burn A Week Longer Than The Whole World.

When The Age Is In, The Wit Is Out