Time! where didst thou those years inter Which I have seene decease?
The stars, bright sentinels of the skies.
As yourselves your empires fall, and every kingdom hath a grave.
I hate the countrie's dirt and manners, yet I love the silence; I embrace the wit; A courtship, flowing here in full tide. But loathe the expense, the vanity and pride. No place each way is happy.
No distinction is 'tween man and man, But as his virtues add to him a glory Or vices cloud him.
He who is good is happy.
My soule her wings doth spread And heaven-ward flies, Th' Almighty's Mysteries to read In the large volumes of the skies.
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