I Would Fain Die A Dry Death.

The Rose Looks Fair, But Fairer We It Deem For That Sweet Odour Which Doth In It Live.

I Will Not Choose What Many Men Desire, Because I Will Not Jump With Common Spirits And Rank Me With The Barbarous Multitudes.

'tis Better To Bear The Ills We Have Than Fly To Others That We Know Not Of.

Though Inclination Be As Sharp As Will, My Stronger Guilt Defeats My Strong Intent, And, Like A Man To Double Business Bound, I Stand In Pause Where I Shall First Begin, And Both Neglect.

Beggar That I Am, I Am Even Poor In Thanks, But I Thank You; And Sure, Dear Friends, My Thanks Are Too Dear A Halfpenny.