France Is A Dog-hole, And It No

Thus Have I, Wall, My Part Discharged So; And, Being Done, Thus Wall Away Doth Go.

Your Bait Of Falsehood Takes This Carp Of Truth, And Thus Do We Of Wisdom And Of Reach, With Windlasses And With Assays Of Bias, By Indirections Find Directions Out.

You Have Too Much Respect Upon The World; They Lose It That Do Buy It With Much Care

Why, Thou Owest God A Death.

My Grief Lies Onward, And My Joy Behind.