How My Achievements Mock Me!

My Heart Laments That Virtue Cannot Live Out Of The Teeth Of Emulation.

When The Sun Shines Let Foolish Gnats Make Sport, But Creep In Crannies When He Hides His Beams.

She Marking Them Begins A Wailing Note And Sings Extemporally A Woeful Ditty How Love Makes Young Men Thrall And Old Men Dote How Love Is Wise In Folly, Foolish-witty Her Heavy Anthem Still Concludes In Woe, And Still The Choir Of Echoes Answer So.

I'll Say She Looks As Clear As Morning Roses Newly Washed With Dew.

O God, O God, How Weary, Stale, Flat, And Unprofitable Seem To Me All The Uses Of This World!