Our cure, to be no more; sad cure!

Anarchy is the sure consequence of tyranny; for no power that is not limited by laws can ever be protected by them.

Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep.

Solitude is sometimes best society.

So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.

Enflamed with the study of learning and the admiration of virtue; stirred up with high hopes of living to be brave men and worthy patriots, dear to God, and famous to all ages.

Temper justice with mercy.