Humility, that low, sweet root

From which all heavenly virtues shoot.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): The Loves of the Angels. The Third Angel's Story.

The insane root

That takes the reason prisoner.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Macbeth. Act i. Sc. 3.

A love that took an early root,

And had an early doom.

Thomas K Hervey (1799-1859): The Devil's Progress.

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!

This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth

The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms,

And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,

And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely

His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,

And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,

Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,

This many summers in a sea of glory,

But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride

At length broke under me and now has left me,

Weary and old with service, to the mercy

Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye:

I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched

Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!

There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,

That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,

More pangs and fears than wars or women have:

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

Never to hope again.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

A worm is in the bud of youth,

And at the root of age.

William Cowper (1731-1800): Stanzas subjoined to a Bill of Mortality.

The tree of deepest root is found

Least willing still to quit the ground:

'T was therefore said by ancient sages,

That love of life increased with years

So much, that in our latter stages,

When pain grows sharp and sickness rages,

The greatest love of life appears.

Mrs Thrale (1739-1821): Three Warnings.