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The Sunflow’r, thinking ’twas for him foul shame To nap by daylight, strove t’ excuse the blame

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Blame Excuse Made Nap Shame Sleep Strove Sunflow Thinking

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For the whole world, without a native home, Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
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Water and air He for the Tenor chose, Earth made the Base, the Treble Fame arose,
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Sleep is a god too proud to wait in palaces, and yet so humble too as not to scorn the meanest country cottages.
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The motions strait, and round, and swift, and slow, And short and long, were mixt and woven so, Did in such artful Figures smoothly fall, As made this decent measur’d dance of all. And this is Musick.
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The liberty of a private man, in being master of his own time and actions, as far as may consist with the laws of God and of his country.
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Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.
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When Harvey’s violent passion she did see, Began to tremble and to flee; Took sanctuary, like Daphne, in a tree
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Awake, awake, my Lyre!And tell thy silent master’s humble taleIn sounds that may prevail;Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire
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Begin, be bold, and venture to be wise, He who defers this work from day to day, Does on a river’s bank expecting stay
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The Sunflow’r, thinking ’twas for him foul shame To nap by daylight, strove t’ excuse the blame
ABRAHAM COWLEY

Blame Excuse Made Nap Shame Sleep Strove Sunflow Thinking
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Fill all the Glasses there; for why Should every Creature Drink but I? Why, Man of Morals, tell me why?
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