Who Knows Not Circe, The Daughter Of

By Labor And Intent Study (which I Take To Be My Portion In This Life), Joined With The Strong Propensity Of Nature, I Might Perhaps Leave Something So Written To After-times, As They Should Not Willingly Let It Die.

How Soon Hath Time, The Subtle Thief Of Youth, Stolen On His Wing My Three-and-twentieth Year!

The Nodding Horror Of Whose Shady Brows Threats The Forlorn And Wandering Passenger.

And Feel By Turns The Bitter Change Of Fierce Extremes, Extremes By Change More Fierce.

True It Is That Covetousness Is Rich, Modesty Starves.