I hear you reproach, "But delay was best, For their end was a crime." Oh, a crime will do As well, I reply, to serve for a test As a virtue golden through and through, Sufficient to vindicate itself And prove its worth at a moment's view! . . . . . . Let a man contend to the uttermost For his life's set prize, be it what it will! The counter our lovers staked was lost As surely as if it were lawful coin; And the sin I impute to each frustrate ghost Is-the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin, Though the end in sight was a vice, I say.

God is in his Heaven, all's right with the world.

'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls.

Truth never hurt the teller.

The great mind knows the power of gentleness.

Pleasure must succeed to pleasure, else past pleasure turns to pain

The devil, that old stager, who leads downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way!