Tears are the noble language of eyes, and when true love of words is destitute. The eye by tears speak, while the tongue is mute.
Who with a little cannot be content, endures an everlasting punishment.
It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.
I do love I know not what; Sometimes this, and sometimes that.
Tears are the noble language of the eye.
Here a little child I stand, Heaving up my either hand; Cold as paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to Thee, for a benison to fall on our meat, and on us all. Amen.