Know, Nature, like the cuckoo, laughs at law

Friendship, 'tis said, is love without his wings, And friendship, sir, is sweet enough for me.

Friendship craves The commerce of the mind, not the exchange Of emulous feasts that foster sycophants.

Let your house Be spacious more than splendid, and be books And busts your most conspicuous furniture.

Then, without toil, by vale and mountain side, Men found their few and simple wants supplied; Plenty, like dew, dropped subtle from the air, And Earth's fair gifts rose prodigal as prayer. Love, with no charms except its own to lure, Was …

And Clara dies that Claribel may dance.

Death is the looking-glass of life wherein Each man may scan the aspect of his deeds.