I Never Saw Any Good That Came

For Thee, Sweet Month; The Groves Green Liveries Wear. If Not The First, The Fairest Of The Year; For Thee The Graces Lead The Dancing Hours, And Nature's Ready Pencil Paints The Flowers. When Thy Short Reign Is Past, The Feverish Sun The Sultry Tropic Fears, And Moves More Slowly On.

Reason Saw Not, Till Faith Sprung The Light.

Heaven Be Thanked, We Live In Such An Age, When No Man Dies For Love, But On The Stage.

Dead Men Tell No Tales.

Even Kings But Play; And When Their Part Is Done, Some Other, Worse Or Better, Mounts The Throne.