A Wicked Mans Gift Hath A Touch

Between The Businesse Of Life And The Day Of Death, A Space Ought To Be Interposed.

With Customes Wee Live Well, But Lawes Undoe Us.

He That Knows Nothing Doubts Nothing.

Lord, With What Care Hast Thou Begirt Us Round! Parents First Season Us; Then Schoolmasters Deliver Us To Laws; They Send Us Bound To Rules Of Reason, Holy Messengers, Pulpits And Sundays, Sorrow Dogging Sin, Afflictions Sorted, Anguish Of All Sizes, Fine Nets And Stratagems To Catch Us In, Bibles Laid Open, Millions Of Surprises, Blessings Beforehand, Ties Of Gratefulness, The Sound Of Glory Ringing In Our Ears: Without, Our Shame; Within, Our Consciences; Angels And Grace, Eternal Hopes And Fears. Yet All These Fences And Their Whole Array One Cunning Bosom-sin Blows Quite Away.

Be Not Too Presumptuously Sure In Any Business; For Things Of This World Depend On Such A Train Of Unseen Chances That If It Were In Man's Hands To Set The Tables, Still He Would Not Be Certain To Win The Game.