Tis No Sin Love's Fruits To Steal;

Very Few Men Are Wise By Their Own Council, Or Learned By Their Own Teaching. For He That Was Only Taught By Himself, Had A Fool For A Master.

A New Disease? I Know Not, New Or Old, But It May Well Be Called Poor Mortals Plague For, Like A Pestilence, It Doth Infect The Houses Of The Brain Till Not A Thought, Or Motion, In The Mind, Be Free From The Black Poison Of Suspect.

For He That Once Is Good, Is Ever Great.

Forbear, You Things That Stand Upon The Pinnacles Of State, To Boast Your Slippery Height! When You Do Fall, You Dash Yourselves In Pieces, Ne'er To Rise: And He That Lends You Pity, Is Not Wise.

And Where She Went, The Flowers Took Thickest Root, As She Had Sow'd Them With Her Odorous Foot.