The Web Of Our Life Is Of

Twere To Consider Too Curiously, To Consider So.

Come What Sorrow Can, It Cannot Countervail The Exchange Of Joy, That One Short Minute Gives Me In Her Sight

For Where Thou Art, There Is The World Itself, With Every Several Pleasure In The World, And Where Thou Art Not, Desolation.

An Old Man, Broken With The Storms Of State, Is Come To Lay His Weary Bones Among Ye; Give Him A Little Earth For Charity!

My Meaning In Saying He Is A Good Man, Is To Have You Understand Me That He Is Sufficient.