Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse.

All things but one you can restore; the heart you get returns no more.

If its length be not considered a merit, it hath no other.

Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.

The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made. Stronger by weakness, wiser men become As they draw near to their eternal home: Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view That stand upon the threshold of the new.

For all we know Of what the blessed do above Is, that they sing, and that they love. While I listen to thy Voice.

But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.