The Griefs Of Private Men Are Soon

All Live To Die, And Rise To Fall.

Love Is Not Ful Of Pittie (as Men Say) But Deaffe And Cruell, Where He Meanes To Pray.

There Is No Sin But Ignorance.

The Stars Move Still, Time Runs, The Clock Will Strike

Cut Is The Branch That Might Have Grown Full Straight, And Burned Is Apollo's Laurel Bough, That Sometime Grew Within This Learned Man. Faustus Is Gone.