Ease Would Recant Vows Made In Pain,

Heaven Is As The Book Of God Before Thee Set, Wherein To Read His Wondrous Works.

Consider First, That Great Or Bright Infers Not Excellence.

Nor Jealousy Was Understood, The Injur'd Lover's Hell.

Yet Once More, O Ye Laurels, And Once More Ye Myrtles Brown, With Ivy Never Sere, I Come To Pluck Your Berries Harsh And Crude, And With Forced Fingers Rude Shatter Your Leaves Before The Mellowing Year.

Boast Not Of What Thou Would'st Have Done, But Do.