Nothing In His Life Became Him Like

Tired With All These, For Restful Death I Cry.

Bounty, Being Free Itself, Thinks All Others So.

She Marking Them Begins A Wailing Note And Sings Extemporally A Woeful Ditty How Love Makes Young Men Thrall And Old Men Dote How Love Is Wise In Folly, Foolish-witty Her Heavy Anthem Still Concludes In Woe, And Still The Choir Of Echoes Answer So.

The Chameleon Love Can Feed On The Air

If All The Year Were Playing Holidays; To Sport Would Be As Tedious As To Work.