Nature Hath Framed Strange Fellows In Her

Love And Meekness, Lord, Become A Churchman Better Than Ambition: Win Straying Souls With Modesty Again, Cast None Away.

If By Chance I Talk A Little Wild, Forgive Me; I Had It From My Father.

The Eye Of Man Hath Not Heard, The Ear Of Man Hath Not Seen, Man's Hand Is Not Able To Taste, His Tongue To Conceive, Nor His Heart To Report, What My Dream Was.

Every Thing That Grows / Holds In Perfection But A Little Moment.

If After Every Tempest Come Such Calms, May The Winds Blow Till They Have Waken'd Death!