Fame Is No Plant That Grows On

Mutual Love, The Crown Of All Our Bliss.

So Little Knows Any, But God Alone, But Perverts Best Things To Worst Abuse, Or To Their Meanest Use.

He Left It In Thy Power, Ordaind Thy Will By Nature Free, Not Over-rul'd By Fate Inextricable, Or Strict Necessity.

So Spake The Seraph Abdiel, Faithful Found; Among The Faithless, Faithful Only He.

Let None Admire That Riches Grow In Hell; That Soil May Best Deserve The Precious Bane.