You Are An Alchemist; Make Gold Of

Frame Your Mind To Mirth And Merriment Which Bars A Thousand Harms And Lengthens Life.

He That Is Truly Dedicated To War Hath No Self-love

All Days Are Nights To See Till I See Thee, And Nights Bright Days When Dreams Do Show Thee Me.

Why, All Delights Are Vain, But That Most Vain Which, With Pain Purchased, Doth Inherit Pain: As, Painfully To Pore Upon A Book, To Seek The Light Of Truth, Which Truth The While Doth Falsely Blind The Eyesight Of His Look.

The Man That Hath No Music In Himself, Nor Is Not Moved With Concord Of Sweet Sounds, Is Fit For Treasons, Stratagems And Spoils.