Still are the thoughts to memory dear.

I will but confess the sins of my green cloak to my grey friar's frock, and all shall be well again.

The will to do, the soul to dare..

Do not Christians and Heathens, and Jews and Gentiles, and poets and philosophers, unite in allowing the starry influences?

Vengeance to God alone belongs; But, when I think of all my wrongs My blood is liquid flame!

Honour is a homicide and a bloodspiller, that gangs about making frays in the street; but Credit is a decent honest man, that sits at hame and makes the pat play.

In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying.