Life seems like a haunted wood, where we tremble and crouch and cry

Know, Nature, like the cuckoo, laughs at law, Placing her eggs in whatso nest she will.

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 …

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

And Clara dies that Claribel may dance.

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