I Sat Me Down To Watch Upon

Extol Not Riches Then, The Toil Of Fools, The Wise Man's Cumbrance, If Not Snare, More Apt To Slacken Virtue, And Abate Her Edge, Than Prompt Her To Do Aught May Merit Praise.

Abashed The Devil Stood And Felt How Awful Goodness Is And Saw Virtue In Her Shape How Lovely: And Pined His Loss

The Teachers Of Our Law, And To Propose What Might Improve My Knowledge Or Their Own.

You Can Make Hell Out Of Heaven And Heaven Out Of Hell. It's All In The Mind.

Each Tree Laden With Fairest Fruit, That Hung To Th' Eye Tempting, Stirr'd In Me Sudden Appetite To Pluck And Eat.