The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, And say what thou seest yond.
Never anything can be amiss, when simpleness and duty tender it.
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; His dew falls everywhere.
For now they kill me with a living death.
Life every man holds dear; but the dear man holds honor far more precious dear than life.
Night's candles have burned out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops." Hope tinged with melancholy - like life.