Virtue and genuine graces in themselves speak what no words can utter.

Every thing that grows / Holds in perfection but a little moment.

Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou ow'st the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Here's three on's are sophisticated. Thou art the thing itself; unaccommodated man is no more than such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.

His neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. He is indeed a horse.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a noble heart Hath pawned an open hand in sign of love.

Who is so firm that can't be seduced?