Fair Words Never Hurt The Tongue.

I Pray, What Flowers Are These? The Pansy This, O, That's For Lover's Thoughts.

Give Me A Spirit That On This Life's Rough Sea Loves T'have His Sails Filled With A Lusty Wind, Even Till His Sail-yards Tremble, His Masts Crack, And His Ship Run On Her Side So Low That She Drinks Water, And Her Keel Plows Air.

And For The Authentical Truth Of Either Person Or Actions, Who (worth The Respecting) Will Expect It In A Poem, Whose Subject Is Not Truth, But Things Like Truth? Poor Envious Souls They Are That Cavil At Truth's Want In These Natural Fictions; Material Instruction, Elegant And Sententious Excitation To Virtue, And Deflection From Her Contrary, Being The Soul, Limbs, And Limits Of An Authentical Tragedy.

So Our Lives In Acts Exemplary, Not Only Win Ourselves Good Names, But Doth To Others Give Matter For Virtuous Deeds, By Which We Live.

Flatterers Look Like Friends, As Wolves Like Dogs.