Present Fears Are Less Than

Foul Cankering Rust The Hidden Treasure Frets, But Gold That's Put To Use More Gold Begets.

To Business That We Love We Rise Betime, And Go To't With Delight.

I That Please Some, Try All, Both Joy And Terror Of Good And Bad, That Makes And Unfolds Error.

Assume A Virtue, If You Have It Not. That Monster, Custom, Who All Sense Doth Eat; Of Habits Devil, Is Angel Yet In This.

Now The Time Is Come, That France Must Veil Her Lofty-plumed Crest, And Let Her Head Fall Into England's Lap.