O That Men's Ears Should Be To

I Cannot Do It Without Comp[u]ters.

When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought I Summon Up Remembrance Of Things Past, I Sigh The Lack Of Many A Thing I Sought.

Pause Awhile, And Let My Counsel Sway You.

Alack, The Night Comes On, And The Bleak Winds Do Sorely Ruffle; For Many Miles About There's Scarce A Bush.

When Workmen Strive To Do Better Than Well, They Do Confound Their Skill In Covetousness.