Quotes about fourscore (5 Quotes)



    Of no distemper, of no blast he died, But fell like autumn fruit that mellow'd long, Even wonder'd at, because he dropp'd no sooner. Fate seem'd to wind him up for fourscore years, Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more Till like a clock worn out with eating time, The wheels of weary life at last stood still.

    That plain white-aproned man, who stood at work
    Patient and accurate full fourscore years,
    Cherished his sight and touch by temperance,
    And since keen sense is love of perfectness
    Made perfect violins, the needed paths
    For inspiration and high mastery.






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