A fellow in a market town

No, let the monarch’s bags and others hold The flattering, mighty, nay, al-mighty gold.

Care to our coffin adds a nail, no doubt, And every grin so merry draws one out.

What rage for fame attends both great and small! Better be damned than mentioned not at all.

People may have too much of a good thing: Full as an egg of wisdom thus I sing.

The scene was changed. It was a bark that slowly held its way, And o'er its lee the coast of France in the light of evening lay; And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful eyes Upon the fast receding hills that dim and distant rise.

So All is diff’rent, and yet All is One.