A High Hope For A Low Heaven:

The Latter End Of A Fray, And The Beginning Of A Feast, Fits A Dull Fighter, And A Keen Guest.

Fondling,' She Saith, 'since I Have Hemm'd Thee Here Within The Circuit Of This Ivory Pale, I'll Be A Park, And Thou Shalt Be My Deer; Feed Where Thou Wilt, On Mountain Or In Dale: Graze On My Lips, And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.

Thus Weary Of The World, Away She Hies, And Yokes Her Silver Doves; By Whose Swift Aid Their Mistress Mounted Through The Empty Skies In Her Light Chariot Quickly Is Convey'd; Holding Their Course To Paphos, Where Their Queen Means To Immure Herself And Not Be Seen.

He That Is Thy Friend Indeed, He Will Help Thee In Thy Need: If Thou Sorrow, He Will Weep; If Thou Wake, He Cannot Sleep: Thus Of Every Grief In Heart He With Thee Does Bear A Part. These Are Certain Signs To Know Faithful Friend From Flattering Foe.

Some Kinds Of Baseness Are Nobly Undergone.