Thy Wit Is A Very Bitter Sweeting;

Absence From Those We Love Is Self From Self - A Deadly Banishment.

My Pride Fell With My Fortunes.

The Peace Of Heaven Is Theirs That Lift Their Swords, In Such A Just And Charitable War.

Is Man No More Than This? Consider Him Well. Thou Ow'st The Worm No Silk, The Beast No Hide, The Sheep No Wool, The Cat No Perfume. Here's Three On's Are Sophisticated. Thou Art The Thing Itself; Unaccommodated Man Is No More Than Such A Poor, Bare, Forked Animal As Thou Art.

Such Thanks As Fits A King's Remembrance.