Sleep Is A Death, O Make Me

(death Is) A Leap Into The Dark.

Let Him Have The Key Of Thy Heart, Who Hath The Lock Of His Own.

Flattery Is A Juggler, And No Kin Unto Sincerity.

Gold Once Out Of The Earth Is No More Due Unto It; What Was Unreasonably Committed To The Ground, Is Reasonably Resumed From It; Let Monuments And Rich Fabricks, Not Riches, Adorn Men's Ashes.

There Is A Rabble Among The Gentry As Well As The Commonalty; A Sort Of Plebeian Heads Whose Fancy Moves With The Same Wheel As These Men?in The Same Level With Mechanics, Though Their Fortunes Do Sometimes Gild Their Infirmities And Their Purses Compound For Their Follies.