O Hell! To Choose Love With Another's

I Wasted Time, And Now Doth Time Waste Me.

What Wouldst Thou Do, Old Man? Think'st Thou That Duty Shall Have Dread To Speak When Power To Flattery Bows?

The Brain May Devise Laws For The Blood, But A Hot Temper Leaps O'er A Cold Decree.

So Our Virtues Lie In The Interpretation Of The Time

The Sands Are Number'd That Make Up My Life; Here Must I Stay, And Here My Life Must End.