Time Goes On Crutches Till Love Have

Opinion, A Sovereign Mistress Of Effects.

What Power Is It Which Mounts My Love So High, That Makes Me See, And Cannot Feed Mine Eye

And Oftentimes, To Win Us To Our Harm, The Instruments Of Darkness Tell Us Truths, Win Us With Honest Trifles, To Betray's In Deepest Consequence

For The Success, Although Particular, Shall Give A Scantling Of Good Or Bad Unto The General; And In Such Indexes, Although Small Pricks To Their Subsequent Volumes, There Is Seen The Baby Figure Of The Giant Mass Of Things To Come At Large.

Sick In The World's Regard, Wretched And Low.