One Sees More Devils Than Vast Hell

Every True Man's Apparel Fits Your Thief.

And Blind Oblivion Swallowed Cities Up.

All Furnished, All In Arms; All Plum'd Like Estridges That With The Wind Bated Like Eagles Having Lately Bathed; Glittering In Golden Coats Like Images; As Full Of Spirit As The Month Of May And Gorgeous As The Sun At Midsummer; Wanton As Youthful Goats, Wild As Young Bulls.

Tis Our Fast Intent To Shake All Cares And Business From Our Age, Conferring Them On Younger Strengths, While We Unburdened Crawl Toward Death.

I'll Say She Looks As Clear As Morning Roses Newly Washed With Dew.