Chaos Of Thought And Passion,

Then From The Mint Walks Forth The Man Of Rhyme, Happy To Catch Me, Just At Dinner-time.

A Field Of Glory Is A Field For All.

Here Thou, Great Anna! Whom Three Realms Obey, / Dost Sometimes Counsel Take—and Sometimes Tea.

A God Without Dominion, Providence, And Final Causes, Is Nothing Else But Fate And Nature.

Fine Sense And Exalted Sense Are Not Half So Useful As Common Sense. There Are Forty Men Of Wit For One Man Of Sense; And He That Will Carry Nothing About Him But Gold, Will Be Every Day At A Loss For Want Of Readier Change.