Nothing Violent, Oft Have I

Who Ever Loved That Loved Not At First Sight?

Till Swollen With Cunning, Of A Self-conceit, His Waxen Wings Did Mount Above His Reach, And, Melting, Heavens Conspir'd His Overthrow.

Where Both Deliberate, The Love Is Slight: Who Ever Lov'd, That Lov'd Not At First Sight?

Virtue Is The Fount Whence Honour Springs.

The Griefs Of Private Men Are Soon Allayed, But Not Of Kings.