Calm Of Mind, All Passion Spent.

But O Yet More Miserable! Myself My Sepulchre, A Moving Grave.

And Join With Thee Calm Peace And Quiet, Spare Fast, That Oft With Gods Doth Diet.

Good Luck Befriend Thee, Son; For At Thy Birth The Fairy Ladies Danced Upon The Hearth.

His Sleep Was Aery Light, From Pure Digestion Bred.

Love Virtue, She Alone Is Free, She Can Teach Ye How To Climb Higher Than The Sphery Chime; Or, If Virtue Feeble Were, Heav'n Itself Would Stoop To Her.