Of All Wild Beasts Preserve Me From

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.

Who Falls For Love Of God, Shall Rise A Star.

Court A Mistress, She Denies You; Let Her Alone, She Will Court You.

You Are Not Now To Think What's Best To Do, As In Beginnings, But What Must Be Done, Being Thus Enter'd; And Slip No Advantage That May Secure You. Let Them Call It Mischief; When It Is Past, And Prosper'd , 'twill Be Virtue.

I'll Give Anything For A Good Copy Now, Be It True Or False, So It Be News.