My Age I Will Not Once Lament,

O Time The Fatal Wrack Of Mortal Things, That Draws Oblivion's Curtains Over Kings; Their Sumptuous Monuments, Men Know Them Not, Their Names Without A Record Are Forgot, Their Parts, Their Ports, Their Pomps All Laid In Th' Dust Nor Wit Nor Gold, Nor Buildings Scape Time's Rust; But He Whose Name Is Graved In The White Stone Shall Last And Shine When All Of These Are Gone.

What To My Saviour Shall I Givewho Freely Hath Done This For Me?i'll Serve Him Here Whilst I Shall Liveand Loue Him To Eternity

Art Can Do Much, But This Maxim's Most Sure/a Weak Or Wounded Brain Admits No Cure.

And Time Brings Down What Is Both Strong And Tall. But Plants New Set To Be Eradicate, And Buds New Blown, To Have So Short A Date, Is By His Hand Alone That Guides Nature And Fate.

Some Laborers Have Hard Hands, And Old Sinners Have Brawny Consciences.