Would I Were In An Alehouse In

Although The Last, Not Least.

There Is Some Soul Of Goodness In Things Evil, Would Men Observingly Distill It Out.

Death, As The Psalmist Saith, Is Certain To All, All Shall Die.

Conscience Is A Blushing, Shamefaced Spirit Than Mutinies In A Man's Bosom; It Fills One Full Of Obstacles.

The Amity That Wisdom Knits Not, Folly May Easily Untie.