These Flowers Are Like The Pleasures Of

While We Lie Tumbling In The Hay.

Tis Much When Sceptres Are In Children's Hands, But More When Envy Breeds Unkind Division: There Comes The Ruin, There Begins Confusion.

You Know That Love Will Creep In Service Where It Cannot Go.

A Woman Moved Is Like A Fountain Troubled, Muddy, Ill-seeming, Thick, Bereft Of Beauty.

Nothing In His Life Became Him Like Leaving It.