I Swear Again, I Would Not Be

Music Can Minister To Minds Diseased, Pluck From The Memory A Rooted Sorrow, Raze Out The Written Troubles Of The Brain, And With Its Sweet Oblivious Antidote, Cleanse The Full Bosom Of All Perilous Stuff That Weighs Upon The Heart.

Let Us, Like Merchants, Show Our Foulest Wares, And Think Perchance They'll Sell; If Not, The Lustre Of The Better Yet To Show Shall Show The Better.

It Is A Good Divine That Follows His Own Instructions.

Go Wisely And Slowly. Those Who Rush Stumble And Fall.

Heaven Truly Knows That Thou Art False As Hell.