Ay, Much Is The Force Of Heaven-bred

Promising Is The Very Air O' The Time; It Opens The Eyes Of Expectation.

That We Would Do We Should Do When We Would, For This 'would' Changes, And Hath Abatements And Delays As Many As There Are Tongues, Are Hands, Are Accidents, And Then This 'should' Is Like A Spendthrift Sigh, That Hurts By Easing.

Take But Degree Away, Untune That String, And Hark, What Discord Follows!

There Is An Old Poor Man,. . . . Oppress'd With Two Weak Evils, Age And Hunger.

Neither My Place, Nor Aught I Heard Of Business, Hath Raised Me From My Bed; Nor Doth The General Care Take Hold On Me; For My Particular Grief Is Of So Floodgate And O'erbearing Nature That It Engluts And Swallows Other Sorrows, And It Is Still Itself.