Free From Gross Passion Or Of Mirth

Vaulting Ambition, Which O'erleaps Itself And Falls On The Other Side

Do Not Plunge Thyself Too Far In Anger.

You Have Dancing Shoes With Nimble Soles. I Have A Soul Of Lead.

The Art Of Our Necessities Is Strange That Can Make Vile Things Precious.

The Even Mead, That Erst Brought Sweetly Forth The Freckled Cowslip, Burnet, And Green Clover, Wanting The Scythe, All Uncorrected, Rank, Conceives By Idleness, And Nothing Teems But Hateful Docks, Rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burrs, Losing Both Beauty And Utility.