Roses at first were white, Till thy co'd not agree, Whether my Sapho's breast, Or they more white sho'd be.
In vain our labours are, whatsoe'er they be, unless God gives the Benediction.
Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.
Each must in virtue strive for to excel; That man lives twice that lives the first life well.
It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.
O thou, the drink of gods and angels! Wine