Hanging And Wiving Goes By Destiny.

Her Father Lov'd Me; Oft Invited Me; Still Question'd Me The Story Of My Life, From Year To Year, The Battles, Sieges, Fortunes, That I Have Pass'd.

But No Perfection Is So Absolute, That Some Impurity Doth Not Pollute.

This Passion, And The Death Of A Dear Friend, Would Go Near To Make A Man Look Sad.

How Poor Are They That Have Have Not Patients.

Who Is Here So Vile That Will Not Love His Country?