Now My Charms Are All O'erthrown.

Exceeds Man's Might: That Dwells With The Gods Above.

The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose, And On Old Hiems' Thin And Icy Crown An Odorous Chaplet Of Sweet Summer Buds Is, As In Mockery, Set. The Spring, The Summer, The Childing Autumn, Angry Winter, Change Their Wonted Liveries, And The Mazed World, By Their Increase, Now Knows Not Which Is Which.

And Thou, All-shaking Thunder, Strike Flat The Thick Rotundity O' The World! Crack Nature's Moulds, All Germens Spill At Once That Makes Ingrateful Man!

Fair Youth, I Would I Could Make Thee Believe I Love.

Reputation Is An Idle And Most False Imposition; Oft Got Without Merit, And Lost Without Deserving.