This truth within thy mind rehearse, That in a boundless universe Is boundless better, boundless worse.

It is hard to wive and thrive both in a year.

The parting of a husband and wife is like the cleaving of a heart; one half will flutter here, one there.

O mighty-mouthed inventor of harmonies, O skilled to sing of Time or Eternity, God-gifted organ-voice of England, Milton, a name to resound for ages.

Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

Nor at all can tell Whether I mean this day to end myself, Or lend an ear to Plato where he says, That men like soldiers may not quit the post Allotted by the Gods.

Thou madest man, he knows not why, he thinks he was not made to die.