Many Punishments Sometimes, And In Some Cases,

I Feel My Griefs Too, And There Scarce Is Ground Upon My Flesh T'inflict Another Wound. Yet Dare I Not Complain, Or Wish For Death With Holy Paul; Lest It Be Thought The Breath Of Discontent; Or That These Prayers Be For Weariness Of Life, Not Love Of Thee.

If You Be Sick, Your Own Thoughts Make You Sick

Tis No Sin Love's Fruits To Steal; But The Sweet Thefts To Reveal; To Be Taken, To Be Seen, These Have Crimes Accounted Been.

Sweet Swan Of Avon! What A Sight It Were To See Thee In Our Water Yet Appear.

What Excellent Fools Religion Makes Of Men.