Too Much Is A Vanity; Enough Is

See How The World (whose Chaste And Pregnant Womb Of Late Conceiv'd, And Brought Forth Nothing Ill) Is Now Degenerated, And Become A Base Adult'ress, Whose False Births Do Fill The Earth With Monsters, Monsters That Do Roam And Rage About, And Make A Trade To Kill: Now Glutt'ny Paunches, And Avarice A Pawn; Pale Envy Pines, Pride Swells, And Sloth Begins To Yawn.

No Man's Condition Is So Base As His; None More Accurs'd Than He; For Man Esteems Him Hateful, 'cause He Seems Not What He Is; God Hates Him, 'cause He Is Not What He Seems; What Grief Is Absent, Or What Mischief Can Be Added To The Hate Of God And Man?

The Heart Is A Small Thing, But Desireth Great Matters. It Is Not Sufficient For A Kite's Dinner, Yet The Whole World Is Not Sufficient For It.

If Thou Neglectest Thy Love To Thy Neighbor, In Vain Thou Professest Thy Love To God; For By Thy Love To God, The Love To Thy Neighbor Is Begotten, And By The Love To Thy Neighbor Thy Love To God Is Nourished.

As There Is No Worldly Gain Without Some Loss, So There Is No Worldly Loss Without Some Gain; If Thou Hast Lost Thy Wealth, Thou Hast Lost Some Trouble With It; If Thou Art Degraded From Thy Honor, Thou Art Likewise Freed From The Stroke Of Envy; If Sickness Hath Blurred Thy Beauty, It Hath Delivered Thee From Pride. Set The Allowance Against The Loss, And Thou Shalt Find No Loss Great; He Loses Little Or Nothing, That Reserves Himself.