Much Malice Mingled With A Little Wit

Faith Is To Believe What You Do Not Yet See: The Reward For This Faith Is To See What You Believe. Thus All Below Is Strength, And All Above Is Grace.

Ever A Glutton, At Another's Cost, But In Whose Kitchen Dwells Perpetual Frost.

Pains Of Love Be Sweeter Far Than All Other Pleasures Are.

Death Only This Mysterious Truth Unfolds, The Mighty Soul How Small A Body Holds.

For Thee, Sweet Month; The Groves Green Liveries Wear. If Not The First, The Fairest Of The Year; For Thee The Graces Lead The Dancing Hours, And Nature's Ready Pencil Paints The Flowers. When Thy Short Reign Is Past, The Feverish Sun The Sultry Tropic Fears, And Moves More Slowly On.