The Suburbs Of Folly Is Vain Mirth,

Prize Not Thyself By What Thou Hast, But By What Thou Art; He That Values A Jewel By Her Golden Frame, Or A Book By Her Silver Clasps, Or A Man By His Vast Estate, Errs; If Thou Art Not Worth More Than The World Can Make Thee, Thy Redeemer Had A Bad Pennyworth, Or Thou An Uncurious Redeemer.

Sin Is A Basilisk Whose Eyes Are Full Of Venom. If The Eye Of Thy Soul See Her First, It Reflects Her Own Poison And Kills Her; If She See Thy Soul, Unseen, Or Seen Too Late, With Her Poison, She Kills Thee: Since Therefore Thou Canst Not Escape Thy Sin, Let Not Thy Sin Escape Thy Observation.

If Thy Faith Have No Doubts, Thou Has Just Cause To Doubt Thy Faith; And If Thy Doubts Have No Hope, Thou Hast Just Reason To Fear Despair; When Therefore Thy Doubts Shall Exercise Thy Faith, Keep Thy Hopes Firm To Qualify Thy Doubts; So Shall Thy Faith Be Secured From Doubts; So Shall Thy Doubts Be Preserved From Despair.

The Goods We Spend We Keep; And What We Save We Lose; And Only What We Lose We Have.

That Friendship Will Not Continue To The End Which Is Begun For An End.