Blest is that government where no art thrives.

Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant King, Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cucko…

Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour.

The Sun shineth as well on the good as the bad: God from on high beholdeth all the workers of iniquity, as well as the upright of heart.