How happy is he born and taught

Love lodged in a woman's breast Is but a guest.

I am but a gatherer and disposer of other men's stuff.

You meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfy our eyes More by your number than your light; You common people of the skies, What are you when the sun shall rise?

Who God doth late and early pray, More of his grace than gifts to send, And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend.

Lord of himself, though not of lands; And having nothing, yet hath all.

He first deceased; she for a little tried To live without him, liked it not, and died.