I Must Not Quarrel With The Will

Contemplation Is Wisdom's Best Nurse.

True It Is That Covetousness Is Rich, Modesty Starves.

Such Joy Ambition Finds.

Come To The Sunset Tree! The Day Is Past And Gone; The Woodman's Axe Lies Free, And The Reaper's Work Is Done.

Alas! What Boots It With Uncessant Care To Tend The Homely Slighted Shepherd's Trade, And Strictly Meditate The Thankless Muse; Were It Not Better Done As Others Use, To Sport With Amaryllis In The Shade, Or With The Tangles Of Neaera's Hair? Fame Is The Spur That The Clear Spirit Doth Raise (that Last Infirmity Of Noble Mind) To Scorn Delights, And Live Laborious Days; But The Fair Guerdon When We Hope To Find, And Think To Burst Out Into Sudden Blaze, Comes The Blind Fury With Th'abhorred Shears, And Slits The Thin-spun Life.