Skilled to pull wires, he baffles Nature's hope,
Who sure intended him to stretch a rope.

Sir , now unravell'd is the Golden Fleece:
Men that could only fool at Fox and Geese,
Are new made Polititians by thy Book,
And both can judge and conquer with a Look.
The hidden fate of Princes you unfold;
Court, Clergy, Commons, by your Law control'd;
 Strange, Serious Wantoning, all that they
   Bluster'd, and clutter'd for, you play .

Seven wise men, seven fit in their wisdom — seven heroes
Seven at least who laboured with vigour
Seven who were a comfort to us
Seven pillars of respect, seven pure hearts

Singing, dancing — handsome actors entertain;
guests have been invited to the courtyard.
The singers' mats hold the setting sun;
the dancers' sleeves flap in the east wind.
Lakeside willows — this smoky mist is hard to prohibit!
Flowering peach — a fire burning red by itself!
Village women come to ride the swing;
when they're done kicking, their hair is a mess!

Sing! Why should I sing,
drawn unwillingly
by devious ways
I must retrace?
Sing! Why should I sing? . . .

Since I parted from you, immortal bird,
I have lived in dust for more than ten days.
You must be perched on your accustomed bamboo;
your voice, I recall, reached high into the clouds.
You still must have a mind to fly ten thousand miles:
how far can it be for you to the Three Mountains?
On a night of flute music and brilliant moonlight
I will come to watch your elegant dance.

Where thy victorious feet, great God, should tread,
In honour this green tapestry is spred;
And as all future things are past to thee,
The triumph here precedes the victory.

Since first you knew my am'rous smart,
Each day augments your proud disdain;
'Twas then enough to break my heart,
And now, thank heav'n! to break my chain.
Cease, thou scorner, cease to shun me!
Now let love and hatred cease!
Half that rigour had undone me,
All that rigour gives me peace.

Since Bonny-boots was dead, that so divinely
Could toot and foot it, (O he did it finely!)
We ne'er went more a-Maying
Nor had that sweet fa-laing.

Simple and fresh and fair from winter's close emerging,
As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been,
Forth from its sunny nook of shelter'd grass — innocent, golden, calm as the dawn,
The spring's first dandelion shows its trustful face.