Fairy elves, Whose midnight revels by a forest side Or fountain some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress.

A crown Golden in show, is but a wreath of thorns, Bring dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless nights To him who wears the regal diadem

Socrates... Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men.

A good principle not rightly understood may prove as hurtful as a bad.

And, re-assembling our afflicted powers, consult how we may henceforth most offend.

Myself, and all the Angelic Host, that stand in the sight of God enthroned, our happy state hold, as you yours, while our obedience hold. On other surety none: freely we serve, because we freely love.

Loneliness is the first thing which God's eye named not good.