Thy Wit Is A Very Bitter Sweeting;

Ready To Go But Never To Return.

The Means That Heaven Yields Must Be Embraced, And Not Neglected; Else, If Heaven Would, And We Will Not Heaven's Offer, We Refuse The Proffered Means Of Succor And Redress.

My Stars Shine Darkly Over Me

Nature Her Custom Holds, Let Shame Say What It Will.

I Wonder That You Will Still Be Talking. Nobody Marks You.