The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords, in such a just and charitable war.

How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.

Where shall we three meet again in thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurlyburly 's done, when the battle 's lost and won

By Heaven, I love thee better than myself

Highly fed and lowly taught.

Then others for breath of words respect, Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.

How much salt water thrown away in waste/ To season love, that of it doth not taste.