Abandon All Remorse; On Horror's

Did He So Often Lodge In Open Field, In Winter's Cold And Summer's Parching Heat, To Conquer France, His True Inheritance?

'tis Better To Be Vile Than Vile Esteemed

Ten Masts Make Not The Altitude Which Thou Hast Perpendicularly Fell. Thy Life's A Miracle.

I Will Despair, And Be At Enmity With Cozening Hope.

Scorn, At First, Makes After-love The More.