Patience, The Beggar's Virtue, Shall Find No

Shall This Nectar Run Useless, Then, To Waste? Or ... These Lips, That Open Like The Morn, Breathing Perfumes, On Such As Dare Approach Them, Be Untouch'd? They Must--nay, 'tis In Vain To Make Resistance-- Be Often Kissed And Tasted.

What A Seaof Melting Ice I Walk On!

Black Detraction Will Find Faults Where They Are Not.

Ambition, In A Private Man Is A Vice, Is In A Prince The Virtue.

My Dancing Days Are Past.