Woman's honor is nice as ermine; it will not bear a soil.
One of the greatest, most noble, and most sublime poems which either this age or nation has produced.
Pride - Lord of human kind
When bounteous autumn rears her head, he joys to pull the ripened pear.
Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.
Courage from hearts and not from numbers grows.