Poor France, thy fine climate, rich vineyards, and the wishes of the learned avail nothing; thou art a destitute beggar, and not the powerful friend thou wert represented to me.

Tell me thy company, and I'll tell thee what thou art.

Blue thou art, intensely blue; Flower, whence came thy dazzling hue?

When thou art at Rome, do as they do at Rome.

London, thou art the flower of cities all!

Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so. For, those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow. Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.