In Thy Face I See The Map

Many Strokes, Though With A Little Axe, Hew Down And Fell The Hardest-timber'd Oak.

The Cunning Livery Of Hell.

What Is Done Cannot Be Now Amended.

Why Are Our Bodies Soft, And Weak, And Smooth But That Our Soft Conditions And Our Hearts Should Well Agree With Our External Parts?

Thou Hast No Figures Nor No Fantasies Which Busy Care Draws In The Brains Of Men; Therefore Thou Sleep'st So Sound.