Ill Met By Moonlight, Proud Titania

But Thou Art Fair, And At Thy Birth, Dear Boy, Nature And Fortune Join'd To Make Thee Great: Of Nature's Gifts Thou Mayst With Lilies Boast, And With The Half-blown Rose; But Fortune, O!

To Business That We Love We Rise Betime, And Go To't With Delight.

Speak, What Trade Art Thou? Why, Sir, A Carpenter. Where Is Thy Leather Apron And Thy Rule? What Does Thou With Thy Best Apparel On?

Sweet Mercy Is Nobility's True Badge.

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