Confess And Be Hanged.

O, Thou Art Fairer Than The Evening Air Clad In The Beauty Of A Thousand Stars.

Time Doth Run With Calm And Silent Foot, Shortening My Days And Thread Of Vital Life.

I Am Envy...i Cannot Read And Therefore Wish All Books Burned.

The Stars Move Still, Time Runs, The Clock Will Strike

Religion Hides Many Mischiefs From Suspicion.