Wisdom Cries Out In The Streets, And

The Rain, It Raineth Every Day.

O Death, Made Proud With Pure And Princely Beauty!

Nothing Emboldens Sin So Much As Mercy.

They Are Fairies; He That Speaks To Them Shall Die. I'll Wink And Couch; No Man Their Works Must Eye.

O, Let My Books Be Then The Eloquence And Dumb Presages Of My Speaking Breast.