Forbear To Judge, For We Are Sinners

I Have More Care To Stay Than Will To Go.

Aand In The End, Having My Freedom, Boast Of Nothing Else But That I Was A Journeyman To Grief?

So Musical A Discord, Such Sweet Thunder.

O, Then, What Graces In My Love Do Dwell, That He Hath Turn'd A Heaven Unto Hell

There's Small Choice In Rotten Apples.