To This Urn Let Those Repair That

Some There Be That Shadows Kiss; Such Have But A Shadow's Bliss.

My Falcon Now Is Sharp And Passing Empty, And Till She Stoop She Must Not Be Full-gorged, For Then She Never Looks Upon Her Lure.

I Have More Care To Stay Than Will To Go.

'tis The Soldier's Life To Have Their Balmy Slumbers Waked With Strife.

Who Would Be So Mocked With Glory, Or To Live But In A Dream Of Friendship, To Have His Pomp And All What State Compounds But Only Painted, Like His Varnished Friends?