I Like Not Fair Terms And A

O, Pardon Me, Thou Bleeding Piece Of Earth, / That I Am Meek And Gentle With These Butchers!

Scorn, At First, Makes After-love The More.

Conscience Is A Blushing, Shamefaced Spirit Than Mutinies In A Man's Bosom; It Fills One Full Of Obstacles.

I Cannot Do It Without Comp[u]ters.

My Brain More Busy Than The Labouring Spider Weaves Tedious Snares To Trap Mine Enemies.