More Of Your Conversation Would Infect My

Striving To Better, Oft We Mar What’s Well.

A Good Man's Fortune May Grow Out At Heels.

I Will Despair, And Be At Enmity With Cozening Hope.

The Weary Sun Hath Made A Golden Set And By The Bright Tract Of His Fiery Car Gives Token Of A Goodly Day To-morrow.

The Poor World Is Almost Six Thousand Years Old, And In All This Time There Was Not Any Man Died In His Own Person, Videlicet, In A Love-cause.