Who Dies In Youth And Vigour, Dies

A Tree Is A Nobler Object Than A Prince In His Coronation-robes.

Why Did I Write? Whose Sin To Me Unknown Dipt Me In Ink, My Parents', Or My Own? As Yet A Child, Nor Yet A Fool To Fame, I Lisp'd In Numbers, For The Numbers Came.

Taste, That Eternal Wanderer, Which Flies From Head To Ears, And Now From Ears To Eyes.

On Her White Breast A Sparkling Cross She Wore, Which Jews Might Kiss And Infidels Adore.

To Balance Fortune By A Just Expense, Join With Economy, Magnificence.