My Dull Brain Was Wrought With Things

Time's The King Of Men; He's Both Their Parent, And He Is Their Grave, And Gives Them What He Will, Not What They Crave.

Full Oft We See Cold Wisdom Waiting On Superfluous Folly.

His Life Was Gentle; And The Elements So Mixed In Him, That Nature Might Stand Up And Say To All The World, This Was A Man!

And Therefore Is Love Said To Be A Child, Because In Choice He Is So Oft Beguil'd

I Will Live In Thy Heart, Die In Thy Lap, And Be Buried In Thy Eyes—and Moreover, I Will Go With Thee To Thy Uncle’s.