The Will Of Man Is By His

Religious Canons, Civil Laws, Are Cruel; Then What Should War Be?

'tis Thought The King Is Dead; We Will Not Stay. The Bay Trees In Our Country Are All Wither'd.

He Is Not Worthy Of The Honey-comb, That Shuns The Hives Because The Bees Have Stings.

What Is The City But The People?

... The Spring, The Summer, The Chilling Autumn, Angry Winter, Change Their Wonted Liveries; And The Mazed World By Their Increase, Now Knows Not Which Is Which.