Let Each Man Do His Best.

O Sleep, O Gentle Sleep, Nature's Soft Nurse, How Have I Frightened Thee, 1710. That Thou No More Will Weigh My Eyelids Down, And Steep My Senses In Forgetfulness?

Love Looks Not With The Eyes, But With The Mind, And Therefore Is Winged Cupid Painted Blind.

Who Can Be Wise, Amazed, Temperate And Furious, Loyal And Neutral, In A Moment? No Man.

When Love Begins To Sicken And Decay It Uses An Enforced Ceremony.

Well Could He Ride, And Often Men Would Say, "that Horse His Mettle From His Rider Takes: Proud Of Subjection, Noble By The Sway, What Rounds, What Bounds, What Course, What Stop He Makes!" And Controversy Hence A Question Takes, Whether The Horse By Him Became His Deed, Or He His Manage By The Well-doing Steed.