That When We Live No More, We

Some Laborers Have Hard Hands, And Old Sinners Have Brawny Consciences.

I Prize Thy Love More Than Whole Mines Of Gold Or All The Riches That The East Doth Hold.

When I Behold The Heavens As In Their Prime, And Then The Earth (though Old) Still Clad In Green, The Stones And Trees, Insensible Of Time, Nor Age Nor Wrinkle On Their Front Are Seen

It Is Reported Of The Peacock That Priding Himself In His Gay Feathers He Ruffles Them Up; But Spying His Black Feet He Soon Lets Fall His Plumes. So He That Glories In His Gifts And Adornings Should Look Upon His Corruptions, And That Will Damp His High Thoughts.

Let Greeks Be Greeks, And Women What They Are.