God forbid that Truth should be confined to Mathematical Demonstration!

My silks and fine array, My smiles and languished air, By love are driv'n away And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: Such end true lovers have.

Christ's crucifix shall be made an excuse for executing criminals.

Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

Since the French Revolution Englishmen are all intermeasurable one by another, certainly a happy state of agreement to which I forone do not agree.

I am in you and you in me, mutual in divine love.

I am under the direction of messengers from Heaven daily and nightly.