And Every Shepherd Tells His Tale Under

Moping Melancholy And Moon-struck Madness.

In Vain Doth Valour Bleed, While Avarice And Rapine Share The Land.

With Thee Conversing I Forget All Time.

Such Bickerings To Recount, Met Often In These Our Writers, What More Worth Is It Than To Chronicle The Wars Of Kites Or Crows Flocking And Fighting In The Air?

He That Has Light Within His Own Clear Breast May Sit In The Centre, And Enjoy Bright Day: But He That Hides A Dark Soul And Foul Thoughts Benighted Walks Under The Mid-day Sun; Himself His Own Dungeon.