"And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel, And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour—well, I often wonder what the Vintners buy One half so precious as the stuff they sell."

"Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane, The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again: How oft hereafter rising shall she look Through this same Garden after me—in vain!"

"Some for the Glories of This World; and some Sigh for the Prophet’s Paradise to come; Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!"

"What, without asking, hither hurried whence? And, without asking, whither hurried hence! Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine Must drown the memory of that Hour of thine!"

"The Potter, having labor’d long and sore In many a Wheel, turns out at last no more Than a broken Pot, which he throws away, And then begins his work again as before."