There Is A History In All Men's

When Holy And Devout Religious Men Are At Their Beads, 'tis Hard To Draw Them Thence; So Sweet Is Zealous Contemplation.

Blow, Winds, And Crack Your Cheeks! Rage! Blow! You Cataracts And Hurricanoes, Spout Till You Have Drenched Our Teeples, Drowned The Cocks! You Sulphurour And Thought-executing Fires, Vaunt-couriers To Oak-cleaving Thunderbolts, Singe My White Head! And Thou, All-shaking Thunder, Strike Flat The Thick Rotundity O' The World! Crack Nature's Molds, All Germens Spill At Once That Make Ingrateful Man!

I Thank God I Am Not A Woman, To Be Touched In So Many Giddy Offences As He Hath Generally Taxed Their Whole Their Whole Sex Withal.

Oh, How This Spring Of Love Resembleth, The Uncertain Glory Of An April Day, Which Now Shows All Beauty Of The Sun, And By And By A Cloud Takes All Away

I Would That I Were Low Laid In My Grave. I Am Not Worth This Coil That's Made For Me.