When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.

Beware the fury of a patient man.

Deathless laurel is the victor's due.

But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand, And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtue's land.

When bounteous autumn rears her head, he joys to pull the ripened pear.

But love's a malady without a cure.

Errors like straws upon the surface flow, Who would search for pearls to be grateful for often must dive below.