Soft Pity Enters An Iron Gate.

Omission To Do What Is Necessary Seals A Commission To A Blank Of Danger; And Danger, Like An Ague, Subtly Taints Even Then When We Sit Idly In The Sun.

Think'st Thou I'd Make A Life Of Jealousy, To Follow Still The Changes Of The Moon With Fresh Suspicions? No; To Be Once In Doubt Is Once To Be Resolved.

Weary With Toil, I Haste Me To My Bed The Dear Repose For Limbs With Travel Tired; But Then Begins A Journey In My Head To Work My Mind, When Body's Work's Expir'd: For Then My Thoughts-from Far Where I Abide- Intend A Zealous Pilgrimage To Thee, And Keep My Drooping Eyelids Open Wide, Looking On Darkness Which The Blind Do See: Save That My Soul's Imaginary Sight Presents Thy Shadow To My Sightless View, Which, Like A Jewel Hung In Ghastly Night, Makes Black Night Beauteous And Her Old Face New. Lo! Thus, By Day My Limbs, By Night My Mind, For Thee, And For Myself No Quiet Find.

Friendship's Full Of Dregs.

Our Jovial Star Reigned At His Birth.