Now, Good Digestion Wait On Appetite, And

The Attempt And Not The Deed Confounds Us.

That Is The Way To Lay The City Flat, To Bring The Roof To The Foundation, And Bury All, Which Yet Distinctly Ranges, In Heaps And Piles Of Ruin.

You Told A Lie, An Odious Damned Lie; Upon My Soul, A Lie, A Wicked Lie.

Arise, Fair Sun, And Kill The Envious Moon, Who Is Already Sick And Pale With Grief That Thou, Her Maid, Art Far More Fair Than She. . . .

And How His Audit Stands Who Knows, Save Heaven?