And Yonder All Before Us Lie Deserts

Though I Carry Always Some Ill-nature About Me, Yet It Is, I Hope, No More Than Is In This World Necessary For A Preservative.

How Vainly Men Themselves Amaze, / To Win The Palm, The Oak, Or Bays; / And Their Incessant Labours See / Crowned From Some Single Herb Or Tree.

So Much One Man Can Do That Does Both Act And Know.

No White Nor Red Was Ever Seen So Am'rous As This Lovely Green. Fond Lovers, Cruel As Their Flame, Cut In These Trees Their Mistress' Name. Little, Alas, They Know Or Heed How Far These Beauties Hers Exceed! Fair Trees! Where S'e'er Your Barks I Wound, No Name Shall But Your Own Be Found.

Had We But World Enough, And Time, This Coyness Lady Were No Crime. We Would Sit Down, And Think Which Way To Walk, And Pass Our Long Love's Day. Thou By The Indian Ganges'side Shouldst Rubies Find: I By The Tide Of Humber Would Complain. I Would Love You Ten Years Before The Flood.