We Will Have Rings And Things And

The Thing Of Courage As Rous'd With Rage Doth Sympathise, And, With An Accent Tun'd In Self-same Key, Retorts To Chiding Fortune.

But Thou Art Fair, And At Thy Birth, Dear Boy, Nature And Fortune Join'd To Make Thee Great: Of Nature's Gifts Thou Mayst With Lilies Boast, And With The Half-blown Rose; But Fortune, O!

I Know A Place Where The Wild Thyme Blows, Where Oxlips And The Nodding Violet Grows.

Let Me Not Live, After My Flame Lacks Oil, To Be The Snuff Of Younger Spirits.

I Am A Foe To Tyrants, And My Country's Friend.