These Flowers Are Like The Pleasures Of

Thus Sometimes Hath The Brightest Day A Cloud; And After Summer Evermore Succeeds Barren Winter, With His Wrathful Nipping Cold: So Cares And Joys Abound, As Seasons Fleet.

Better Be With The Dead, Whom We To Gain Our Peace, Have Sent To Peace, Than On The Torture Of The Mind To Lie In Restless Ecstasy.

Set We Forward; Let A Roman And A British Ensign Wave Friendly Together. So Through Lud's Town March, And In The Temple Of The Great Jupiter Our Peace We'll Ratify, Seal It With Feasts. Set On There! Never Was A War Did Cease, Ere Bloody Hands Were Washed, With Such A Peace.

No Doubt They Rose Up Early To Observe The Rite Of May; And, Hearing Our Intent, Came Here In Grace Of Our Solemnity.

Fortune Is Painted Blind, With A Muffler Afore Her Eyes, To Signify To You That Fortune Is Blind.