That Thou Remember Them, Some Claim As

Wicked Is Not Much Worse Than Indiscreet.

. . . Change Is The Nursery Of Musicke, Joy, Life And Eternity.

Thou Art Slave To Fate, Chance, Kings, And Desperate Men, And Dost With Poison, War, And Sickness Dwell, And Poppy, Or Charms, Can Make Us Sleep As Well, And Better Than Thy Stroke. Why Swell'st Thou Then?

Since You Would Save None Of Me, I Bury Some Of You.

O How Feeble Is Man's Power, That If Good Fortune Fall, Cannot Add Another Hour, Nor A Lost Hour Recall!