But far more numerous was the herd of such, Who think too little, and who talk too much.

But far more numerous was the herd of such, Who think too little, and who talk too much.

My tongue within my lips I rein: For who talks much must talk in vain.

Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.

And love's the noblest frailty of the mind.

When rattling bones together fly, / From the four corners of the sky.