It Is A Shame For The Tongue

The Godly Man Contrarily Is Afraid Of Nothing; Not Of God, Because He Knows Him His Best Friend, And Will Not Hurt Him; Not Of Satan, Because He Cannot Hurt Him; Not Of Afflictions, Because He Knows They Come From A Loving God, And End In His Good; Not Of The Creatures, Since "the Very Stones In The Field Are In League With Him;" Not Of Himself, Since His Conscience Is At Peace.

The Malcontent Is Neither Well, Full Nor Fasting; And Though He Abounds With Complaints, Yet Nothing Dislikes Him But The Present; For What He Condemns While It Was, Once Passed, He Magnifies And Strives To Recall It Out Of The Jaw Of Time. What He Hath He Seeth Not, His Eyes Are So Taken Up With What He Wants; And What He Sees He Careth Not For, Because Be Cares So Much For That Which Is Not.

The Blood That Is Once Inflamed With Wine Is Apt To Boil With Rage.

Sorrows, Because They Are Lingering Guests, I Will Entertain But Moderately, Knowing That The More They Are Made Of The Longer They Will Continue: And For Pleasures, Because They Stay Not, And Do But Call To Drink At My Door, I Will Use Them As Passengers With Slight Respect. He Is His Own Best Friend That Makes The Least Of Both Of Them.

Let Me Know Myself; Let Others Guess At Me.