Hushed as midnight silence.

Freedom which in no other land will thrive, Freedom an English subject's sole prerogative.

Our vows are heard betimes! and Heaven takes care To grant, before we can conclude the prayer: Preventing angels met it half the way, And sent us back to praise, who came to pray.

That gloomy outside, like a rusty chest, contains the shoring treasure of a soul resolved and brave.

Nothing to build, and all things to destroy.

Dead men tell no tales.

Words are but pictures of our thoughts.