Mend When Thou Canst; Be Better At

Let There Be Gall Enough In Thy Ink, Though Thou Write With A Goose-pen, No Matter.

Never Durst Poet Touch A Pen To Write Until His Ink Were Temper'd With Love's Sighs.

We, Ignorant Of Ourselves, Beg Often Our Own Harms, Which The Wise Powers Deny Us For Our Good; So Find We Profit By Losing Of Our Prayers.

And Too Soon Marred Are Those So Early Made.

Verily, I Swear, It Is Better To Be Lowly Born, And Range With Humble Livers In Content, Than To Be Perked Up In A Glistering Grief, And Wear A Golden Sorrow.