How Fortune Piles Her Sports When She

The Man That Is Once Hated, Both His Good And His Evil Deeds Oppress Him.

All The Wise World Is Little Else, In Nature, But Parasites Or Subparasites.

The World Knows Only Two, That's Rome And I.

Whom The Disease Of Talking Still Once Posses-seth, He Can Never Hold His Peace.

I Feel My Griefs Too, And There Scarce Is Ground Upon My Flesh T'inflict Another Wound. Yet Dare I Not Complain, Or Wish For Death With Holy Paul; Lest It Be Thought The Breath Of Discontent; Or That These Prayers Be For Weariness Of Life, Not Love Of Thee.