Cover thy spacious heavens, Zeus, With clouds of mist, And, like the boy who lops The thistles' heads, Disport with oaks and mountain-peaks, Yet thou must leave My earth still standing;...
'Tis easier far a wreath to bind, Than a good owner fort to find. - I kill'd a thousand flies overnight, Yet was waken'd by one, as soon as twas light. - To the mother I give;...
If men are never their thoughts to employ, Take care to provide them a life full of joy; But if to some profit and use thou wouldst bend them, Take care to shear them, and then defend them.