Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end.
A short retirement urges a sweet return.
Suffering for truth's sake Is fortitude to highest victory, And to the faithful death the gate of life.
Chaos umpire sits And by decision more embroils the fray by which he reigns: next him high arbiter Chance governs all.
Tears such as angels weep.
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise. That last infirmity of noble mind. To scorn delights, and live laborious days.