Good, The More Communicated, More Abundant Grows.

These Evils I Deserve, And More . . . . Justly, Yet Despair Not Of His Final Pardon, Whose Ear Is Ever Open, And His Eye Gracious To Re-admit The Suppliant.

And, Re-assembling Our Afflicted Powers, Consult How We May Henceforth Most Offend.

And Ever Against Eating Cares Lap Me In Soft Lydian Airs, Married To Immortal Verse

What Wisdom Can There Be To Choose, What Continence To Forbear Without The Knowledge Of Evil? He That Can Apprehend And Consider Vice With All Her Baits And Seeming Pleasures, And Yet Abstain, And Yet Distinguish, And Yet Prefer That Which Is Truly Better, He Is The True Wayfaring Christian.

Into This Wild Abyss, The Womb Of Nature And Perhaps Her Grave.