My Age Is As A

You Common Cry Of Curs! Whose Breath I Hate As Reek O' The Rotten Fens, Whose Loves I Prize As The Dead Carcasses Of Unburied Men That Do Corrupt My Air, I Banish You; And Here Remain With Your Uncertainty!

Boundless Intemperance In Nature Is A Tyranny. It Hath Been Th' Untimely Emptying Of The Happy Throne And Fall Of Many Kings.

Can One Desire Too Much Of A Good Thing?

Of All The Flowers, Me Thinks A Rose Is Best.

Like One Who Draws The Model Of A House Beyond His Power To Build It Who, Half Through, Gives O'er, And Leaves His Part-created Cost A Naked Subject To The Weeping Clouds.