For My Own Part, I Am Apt

When I Read The Epitaphs Of The Beautiful, Every Inordinate Desire Goes Out; When I Meet With The Grief Of Parents Upon A Tombstone, My Heart Melts With Compassion; When I See The Tomb Of The Parents Themselves, I Consider The Vanity Of Grieving For Those Whom We Must Quickly Follow: When I See Kings Lying By Those Who Deposed Them, When I Consider Rival Wits Placed Side By Side, Or The Holy Men That Divided The World With Their Contests And Disputes, I Reflect With Sorrow And Astonishment On The Little Competitions, Factions, And Debates Of Mankind.

The Jealous Man's Disease Is Of So Malignant A Nature, That It Converts All It Takes Into Its Own Nourishment.

I Consider Time As An In Immense Ocean, In Which Many Noble Authors Are Entirely Swallowed Up.

Who Rant By Note, And Through The Gamut Rage; In Songs And Airs Express Their Martial Fire; Combat In Trills, And In A Fugue Expire.

A Man’s First Care Should Be To Avoid The Reproaches Of His Own Heart.