To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious read more

To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious want,
And, consecrated by the heaven within it,
The sky-blue pool a font.

Let the worst come to the worst.

Let the worst come to the worst.

This formal fool, your man, speaks naught but proverbs,
And speak men what they can to him he'll answer
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This formal fool, your man, speaks naught but proverbs,
And speak men what they can to him he'll answer
With some rhyme, rotten sentence, or old saying,
Such spokes as ye ancient of ye parish use.

If you loose your time, you cannot get mony nor gaine.

If you loose your time, you cannot get mony nor gaine.

Coming events cast their shadows before.

Coming events cast their shadows before.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions.

The very rats
Instinctively had quit it.

The very rats
Instinctively had quit it.

The Royall Crowne cures not the head-ach.
[The Royal Crown cures not the headache.]

The Royall Crowne cures not the head-ach.
[The Royal Crown cures not the headache.]

Fancy the Gracchi complaining of treason!

Fancy the Gracchi complaining of treason!