If We Had No Winter, The Spring

Sin And Shame Ever Go Together; He That Would Be Freed From The Last Must Be Sure To Shun The Company Of The First.

Iron Till It Be Thoroughly Heated Is Incapable To Be Wrought; So God Sees Good To Cast Some Men Into The Furnace Of Affliction, And Then Beats Them On His Anvil Into What Frame He Desires.

O Time The Fatal Wrack Of Mortal Things, That Draws Oblivion's Curtains Over Kings; Their Sumptuous Monuments, Men Know Them Not, Their Names Without A Record Are Forgot, Their Parts, Their Ports, Their Pomps All Laid In Th' Dust Nor Wit Nor Gold, Nor Buildings Scape Time's Rust; But He Whose Name Is Graved In The White Stone Shall Last And Shine When All Of These Are Gone.

It Is Reported Of The Peacock That Priding Himself In His Gay Feathers He Ruffles Them Up; But Spying His Black Feet He Soon Lets Fall His Plumes. So He That Glories In His Gifts And Adornings Should Look Upon His Corruptions, And That Will Damp His High Thoughts.

There Is No Object That We See; No Action That We Do; No Good That We Enjoy; No Evil That We Feel, Or Fear, But We May Make Some Spiritual Advantage Of All: And He That Makes Such Improvement Is Wise, As Well As Pious.