Ye moon and stars, bear witness to the truth.
He was exhaled; his great Creator drew His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.
Pains of love be sweeter far than all other pleasures are.
Pity melts the mind to love.
She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty, Grows cold even in the summer of her age.
Raw in the fields the rude militia swarms, Mouth without hands; maintained at vast expense, In peace a charge, in war a weak defence.