Let Us No More Contend, Nor Blame

To Hear The Lark Begin His Flight, And Singing Startle The Dull Night, From His Watch-tower In The Skies, Till The Dappled Dawn Doth Rise.

Our State Cannot Be Severed, We Are One, One Flesh; To Lose Thee Were To Lose Myself.

My Heart Contains Of Good, Wise, Just, The Perfect Shape.

And What The People But A Herd Confus'd, A Miscellaneous Rabble, Who Extol Things Vulgar, And, Well Weigh'd, Scarce Worth The Praise? They Praise, And They Admire, They Know Not What; And Know Not Whom, But As One Leads The Other; And What Delight To Be By Such Extoll'd, To Live Upon Their Tongues, And Be Their Talk, Of Whom To Be Disprais'd Were No Small Praise?

Come And Trip It As Ye Go On The Light Fantastic Toe.