He oft finds med'cine, who his griefe imparts; But double griefs afflict concealing harts, As raging flames who striveth to supresse.

Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.

He oft finds med'cine, who his griefe imparts; But double griefs afflict concealing harts, As raging flames who striveth to supresse.

One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washèd it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.

The poets scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives; all else is claimed by death.

Ah, fool! faint heart fair lady ne'er could win.

All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.