The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.
Music so softens and disarms the mind That not an arrow does resistance find.
Give us enough but with a sparing hand.
All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.
If its length be not considered a merit, it hath no other.
All things but one you can restore; the heart you get returns no more.