Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude.
If wishes would prevail with me, my purpose should not fail with me.
Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying!
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.
Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall.
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, where manners ne'er were preached.