With Thee Conversing I Forget All Time.

Fate Shall Yield To Fickle Chance, And Chaos Judge The Strife.

Few Sometimes May Know, When Thousands Err.

This Is Servitude, To Serve Th'unwise, Or Him Who Hath Rebelled Against His Worthier, As Thine Now Serve Thee, Thyself Not Free, But To Thyself Enthralled.

The Bird Of Jove, Stoop'd From His Aery Tour, Two Birds Of Gayest Plume Before Him Drove.

Who Can Enjoy Alone? Or All Enjoying What Contentment Find?