It Is Virtue That Gives Glory; That

Sweet Swan Of Avon! What A Sight It Were To See Thee In Our Water Yet Appear.

It Is Virtue That Gives Glory; That Will Endenizen A Man Everywhere.

Let Argument Bear No Unmusical Sound.

Let Those That Merely Talk And Never Think, That Live In The Wild Anarchy Of Drink

Still To Be Neat, Still To Be Drest, As You Were Going To A Feast, Still To Be Powder'd, All Perfum'd. Lady, It Is To Be Presumed, Though Art's Hid Causes Are Not Found, All Is Not Sweet, All Is Not Sound.