Ill News Are Swallow-winged, But What Is

Greatness, With Private Men Esteem'd A Blessing, Is To Me A Curse; And We, Whom, For Our High Births, They Conclude The Happy Freemen, Are The Only Slaves. Happy The Golden Mean!

He That Knows No Guilt Can Know No Fear.

One Grain Of Incense With Devotion Offer'd 's Beyond All Perfumes Of Sabaean Spices.

I Had Not To This Time Subsisted, But That I Was Supported By Your Frequent Courtesies And Favours.

Patience, The Beggar's Virtue, Shall Find No Harbor Here.