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.

Hate is of all things the mightiest divider, nay, is division itself. To couple hatred, therefore, though wedlock try all her golden links, and borrow to tier aid all the iron manacles and fetters of law, it does but seek to twist a rope of sand.

The nodding horror of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger.

Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.

The pious and just honoring of ourselves may be thought the fountainhead from whence every laudable and worthy enterprise issues forth.

Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.

Smiles from reason flow, To brute deny'd, and are of love the food.