Like Patience Gazing On Kings' Graves, And

Men Have Marble, Women Waxen, Minds.

Nothing Emboldens Sin So Much As Mercy.

How Much An Ill Word May Empoison Liking!

But She Makes Hungry Where She Most Satisfies.

I Love Thee, I Love Thee With A Love That Shall Not Die. Till The Sun Grows Cold And The Stars Grow Old.