Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements, these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper.

My latest found, Heaven's last, best gift, my ever new delight!

Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.

Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil.

As children gath'ring pebbles on the shore. Or if I would delight my private hours With music or with poem, where so soon As in our native language can I find That solace?

Farewell Hope, and with Hope farewell Fear

Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve The faith they owe; when earnestly they seek Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail.