So Holy And So Perfect Is My

He Is As Full Of Valor As Of Kindness. Princely In Both.

What Is A Man, If His Chief Good And Market Of His Time Be But To Sleep And Feed? A Beast, No More. Sure He That Made Us With Such Large Discourse, Looking Before And After, Gave Us Not That Capability And God-like Reason To Fust In Us Unused.

You Abilities Are Too Infant-like For Doing Much Alone.

But Love That Comes Too Late, Like A Remorseful Pardon Slowly Carried, To The Great Sender Turns A Sour Offense, Crying, 'that's Good That's Gone.

A Violet In The Youth Of Primy Nature, Forward, Not Permanent--sweet, Not Lasting; The Perfume And Suppliance Of A Minute; No More.