Having My Freedom, Boast Of Nothing Else.

O Heaven! That One Might Read The Book Of Fate, And See The Revolution Of The Times.

Foul Cankering Rust The Hidden Treasure Frets, But Gold That's Put To Use More Gold Begets.

Oh What Fools We Mortals Are.

To Beguile The Time, Look Like The Time.

The Moon Of Rome, Chaste As The Icicle That's Curded By The Frost From Purest Snow.