For A Noble Heart, The Most Precious

For To Be Wise And Love Exceeds Man's Might.

Thy Food Is Such As Hath Been Belch'd On By Infected Lungs.

Fear No More The Heat O' Th' Sun Nor The Furious Winters' Rages; Thou Thy Worldly Task Hast Done, Home Art Gone, And Ta'en Thy Wages. Golden Lads And Girls All Must, As Chimney-sweepers, Come To Dust.

Nor Aught So Good But Strained From That Fair Use, Revolts From True Birth Stumbling On Abuse.

He That Commends Me To Mine Own Content Commends Me To The Thing I Cannot Get.