Do You Not Know I Am A

The Crown O' The Earth Doth Melt. My Lord! O, Wither'd Is The Garland Of The War, The Soldier's Pole Is Fall'n: Young Boys And Girls Are Level Now With Men; The Odds Is Gone, And There Is Nothing Left Remarkable Beneath The Visiting Moon.

What Is Light, If Sylvia Be Not Seen? What Is Joy If Sylvia Be Not By?

O How Wretched Is That Poor Man That Hangs On Princes Favors! There Is Betwixt That Smile We Would Aspire To, That Sweet Aspect Of Princes, And Their Ruin, More Pangs And Fears Than Wars Or Women Have, And When He Falls, He Falls Like Lucifer, Never To Hope Again.

How Can Tyrants Safely Govern Home, Unless Abroad They Purchase Great Alliance.

Pleasure And Revenge Have Ears More Deaf Than Adders To The Voice Of Any True Decision.