Welcome, Thou Kind Deceiver! Thou Best Of

For Those Whom God To Ruin Has Design'd, He Fits For Fate, And First Destroys Their Mind.

Softly Sweet, In Lydian Measures, Soon He Sooth'd His Soul To Pleasures. War, He Sung, Is Toil And Trouble; Honour But An Empty Bubble; Never Ending, Still Beginning, Fighting Still, And Still Destroying. If All The World Be Worth The Winning, Think, Oh Think It Worth Enjoying: Lovely Thais Sits Beside Thee, Take The Good The Gods Provide Thee.

For Truth Has Such A Face And Such A Mien, As To Be Loved Needs Only To Be Seen.

Nothing To Build, And All Things To Destroy.

But 'tis The Talent Of Our English Nation, Still To Be Plotting Some New Reformation.