For Trust Not Him That Hath Once

Let Me Be Ignorant, And In Nothing Good, But Graciously To Know I Am No Better.

Go To You Bosom: Knock There, And Ask Your Heart What It Doth Know.

'tis Dangerous To Take A Cold, To Sleep, To Drink; But I Tell You, My Lord Fool, Out Of This Nettle, Danger, We Pluck This Flower, Safety.

And Oftentimes, To Win Us To Our Harm, The Instruments Of Darkness Tell Us Truths, Win Us With Honest Trifles, To Betray's In Deepest Consequence

How Wayward Is This Foolish Love That, Like A Testy Babe, Will Scratch The Nurse And Presently, All Humble, Kiss The Rod.