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"The gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light, And fleckled darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day’s path and Titan’s fiery wheels."
"Within the infant rind of this small flower.Poison hath residence and medicine power.For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part"
"Good morrow, Father."
"Benedicite. What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distempered head. So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed."
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