For, when with beauty we can virtue join, We paint the semblance of a form divine.
Who walks the fastest, but walks astray, is only furthest from his way.
Fantastic tyrant of the amorous heart. How hard thy yoke, how cruel thy dart. Those escape your anger who refuse your sway, and those are punished most, who most obey.
And hope is but a dream of those that wake.
Hope is but the dream of those that wake.
