Plutus Himself, That Knows The Tinct And

We Must Be Brief When Traitors Brave The Field.

I Understand Thy Kisses, And Thou Mine, And That's A Feeling Disputation.

But Love That Comes Too Late, Like A Remorseful Pardon Slowly Carried, To The Great Sender Turns A Sour Offense, Crying, 'that's Good That's Gone.

Here Will Be An Old Abusing Of God's Patience And The King's English.

There Is A History In All Men's Lives.