The Eagle Suffers Little Birds To Sing.

Farewell, A Long Farewell To All My Greatness! This Is The State Of Man: Today He Puts Forth The Tender Leaves Of Hope, Tomorrow Blossoms, And Bears His Blushing Honours Thick Upon Him: The Third Day Comes A Frost, A Killing Frost, And - When He Thinks, Good Easy Man, Full Surely His Greatness Is A-ripening - Nips His Root, And Then He Falls, As I Do.

The Heavens Forbid But That Our Loves And Comforts Should Increase Even As Our Days Do Grow!

Pardon, Gentles All, The Flat Unraised Spirits That Have Dared On This Unworthy Scaffold To Bring Forth So Great An Object.

This Bud Of Love, By Summer's Ripening Breath, May Prove A Beauteous Flower When Next We Meet

Weed Your Better Judgments Of All Opinion That Grows Rank In Them.