This Is The Very Coinage Of Your

Now, My Masters, Happy Man Be His Dole, Say I; Every Man To His Business.

She Moves Me Not, Or Not Removes At Least Affection's Edge In Me.

Hereditary Sloth Instructs Me.

In Struggling With Misfortunes Lies The True Proof Of Virtue.

That Strain Again! It Had A Dying Fall: O, It Came O'er My Ear Like The Sweet Sound That Breathes Upon A Bank Of Violets, Stealing And Giving Odour! Enough; No More: 'tis Not So Sweet As It Was Before.