Small To Greater Matters Must Give Way.

You Know That Love Will Creep In Service Where It Cannot Go.

Aand In The End, Having My Freedom, Boast Of Nothing Else But That I Was A Journeyman To Grief?

Wisdom Cries Out In The Streets, And No Man Regards It.

Angels Are Bright Still, Though The Brightest Fell.

O, Let My Books Be Then The Eloquence And Dumb Presages Of My Speaking Breast.