But What Is Past My Help Is

There's Nothing That Allays An Angry Mind So Soon As A Sweet Beauty.

It Is A Word That's Quickly Spoken, Which Being Unrestrained, A Heart Is Broken

Who Doubting Tyranny, And Fainting Under Fortune's False Lottery, Desperately Run To Death, For Dread Of Death; That Soul's Most Stout, That, Bearing All Mischance, Dares Last It Out.

As Men Do Walk A Mile, Women Should Talk An Hour, After Supper. 'tis Their Exercise.

Let No Man Fear To Die, We Love To Sleep All, And Death Is But The Sounder Sleep.