Let not Jack Falstaff spill the ale in vain.
Let Touchstone set the fashions for the wise,
And Ariel wreak his fancies through the rain!
II. The Rhymer’s reply. Incense and Splendor.
Incense and splendor haunt me as I go.
Though my good works have been, alas, too few,
Though I do naught, High Heaven comes down to me
And future ages pass in tall review.
I see the years to come as armies vast,
Stalking tremendous through the fields of time.