Demoniac Frenzy, Moping Melancholy.

It Was The Winter Wild, While The Heaven-born Child, All Meanly Wrapt In The Rude Manger Lies.

Hell Has No Benefits, Only Torture.

Revenge, At First Though Sweet, Bitter Ere Long Back On Itself Recoils.

A Bevy Of Fair Women.

Nor Think Thou With Wind Of æry Threats To Awe Whom Yet With Deeds Thou Canst Not.