That eagle's fate and mine are one, Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high.
Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.
Music so softens and disarms the mind That not an arrow does resistance find.
When religion doth with virtue join, it makes a hero like an angel shine.
Others may use the ocean as their road; Only the English make it their abode.
If its length be not considered a merit, it hath no other.