There Is None But He

Good Wine Needs No Bush.

Give Me My Robe, Put On My Crown; I Have Immortal Longings In Me.

The Time Of Universal Peace Is Near. Prove This A Prosp'rous Day, The Three-nooked World Shall Bear The Olive Freely.

Through Tattered Clothes, Small Vices Do Appear. Robes And Furred Gowns Hide All.

Take Physic, Pomp; Expose Thyself To Feel What Wretches Feel, That Thou Mayst Shake The Superflux To Them And Show The Heavens More Just.