A Very Scurvy Fellow.

I Have Touch'd The Highest Point Of All My Greatness, And From That Full Meridian Of My Glory I Haste Now To My Setting.

Now The Good Gods Forbid That Our Renowned Rome, Whose Gratitude Towards Her Deserved Children Is Enrolled In Jove's Own Book, Like An Unnatural Dam Should Now Eat Up Her Own!

Violent Fires Soon Burn Out Themselves, Small Showers Last Long, But Sudden Storms Are Short; He Tires Betimes That Spurs Too Fast.

With Mirth In Funeral And With Dirge In Marriage.

Can It Be That Modesty May More Betray Our Sense Than Woman's Lightness? Having Waste Ground Enough, Shall We Desire To Raze The Sanctuary And Pitch Our Evils There?