Such As We Are Made Of, Such

Which Can Say More Than This Rich Praise, That You Alone Are You?

What Wouldst Thou Do, Old Man? Think'st Thou That Duty Shall Have Dread To Speak When Power To Flattery Bows?

Tis The Mind That Makes The Body Rich.

Foul Fiend Of France And Hag Of All Despite, Encompassed With Thy Lustful Paramours, Becomes It Thee To Taunt His Valiant Age And Twit With Cowardice A Man Half Dead?

So They Loved As Love In Twain Had The Essence But In One; Two Distinct, Divisions None.