Fear no more the heat o' th' sun Nor the furious winters' rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart.

My dear, dear Lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation; that away Men are but gilded loan or painted clay... Mine honor is my life; both grow in one; Take honor from me, and my life is done.

Seek happy nights to happy days.W

Against love's fire fear`s frost hath dissolution

But she makes hungry Where she most satisfies.

Take you me for a sponge?