So Much One Man Can

And Now, When I Have Summed Up All My Store, Thinking (so I Myself Deceive) So Rich A Chaplet Thence To Weave As Never Yet The King Of Glory Wore, Alas! I Find The Serpent Old, That, Twining In His Speckled Breast, About The Flowers Disguised Does Fold With Wreaths Of Fame And Interest.

Now Let Us Sport Us While We May; And Now, Like Amorous Birds Of Prey, Rather At Once Our Time Devour, Than Languish In His Slow-chapped Power.

The World In All Doth But Two Nations Bear- The Good, The Bad; And These Mixed Everywhere.

Had It Lived Long, Is Would Have Been Lilies Without, Roses Within.

How Fit He Is To Sway That Can So Well Obey.