How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!

Spirits when they please Can either sex assume, or both.

How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! How glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.

The olive grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long.

For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

From haunted spring and dale Edg'd with poplar pale The parting genius is with sighing sent.

And feel that I am happier than I know.