Sweets Grown Common Lose Their Dear Delight.

For The Poor Wren (the Most Diminutive Of Birds) Will Fight, Her Young Ones In Her Nest, Against The Owl.

Virtue Is Beauty, But The Beauteous Evil. Are Empty Trunks O'erflourished By The Devil.

So May He Rest, His Faults Lie Gently On Him!

Hang Him, Swaggering Rascal!

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent Made Glorious Summer By This Sun Of York; And All The Clouds That Lour'd Upon Our House In The Deep Bosom Of The Ocean Buried.