'Tis never for their wisdom that one loves the wisest, or for their…

A physician can sometimes parry the scythe of death, but has no power over the sand in the hourglass.

The tree of deepest root is found Least willing still to quit the ground; 'Twas therefore said by ancient sages, That love of life increased with years. So much, that in our latter stages, When pains grow sharp and sickness rages,

Women bear Crosses better than Men do, but bear Surprizes – worse.

Song like a rose should be; Each rhyme a petal sweet; For fragrance, melody, That when her lips repeat The words, her heart may know What secret makes them so:—

And also there’s a little star So white a virgin’s it must be:— Perhaps the lamp my love in heaven Hangs out to light the way for me.

O fairest of the feather’d train! For whom I sing, for whom I burn, Attend with pity to my strain, And grant my love a kind return.