I Learn To Pity Woes So Like

Pains Of Love Be Sweeter Far Than All Other Pleasures Are.

When Bounteous Autumn Rears Her Head, He Joys To Pull The Ripened Pear.

Rhyme Is The Rock On Which Thou Art To Wreck.

Youth Should Watch Joys And Shoot Them As They Fly.

Thou Spring'st A Leak Already In Thy Crown, A Flaw Is In Thy Ill-bak'd Vessel Found; 'tis Hollow, And Returns A Jarring Sound, Yet Thy Moist Clay Is Pliant To Command, Unwrought, And Easy To The Potter's Hand: Now Take The Mould; Now Bend Thy Mind To Feel The First Sharp Motions Of The Forming Wheel.