O God, O God, How Weary, Stale,

Let Not The World See Fear And Sad Distrust Govern The Motion Of A Kingly Eye.

The Best Quarrels, In The Heat, Are Cursed By Those That Feel Their Sharpness.

Fruits That Blossom First Will First Be Ripe.

Tis A Blushing Shame-faced Spirit That Mutinies In A Man's Bosom. It Fills A Man Full Of Obstacles. It Made Me Once Restore A Purse Of Gold That (by Chance) I Found. It Beggars Any Man That Keeps It.

Good God, The Souls Of All My Tribe Defend From Jealousy!