Virgin Me No Virgins! I Must Have

Death Hath A Thousand Doors To Let Out Life.

Patience, The Beggar's Virtue, Shall Find No Harbor Here.

As The Index Tells Us The Contents Of Stories And Directs To The Particular Chapter, Even So Does The Outward Habit And Superficial Order Of Garments (in Man Or Woman) Give Us A Taste Of The Spirit, And Demonstratively Point (as It Were A Manual Note From The Margin) All The Internal Quality Of The Soul; And There Cannot Be A More Evident, Palpable, Gross Manifestation Of Poor, Degenerate, Dunghilly Blood And Breeding Than A Rude, Unpolished, Disordered, And Slovenly Outside.

Quiet Night, That Brings Best To The Labourer, Is The Outlaw's Day, In Which He Rises Early To Do Wrong, And When His Work Is Ended Dares Not Sleep.

You May Boldly Say, You Did Not Plough Or Trust The Barren And Ungrateful Sands With The Fruitful Grain Of Your Religious Counsels.