That Power Which Erring Men Call Chance.

License They Mean When They Cry Liberty; For Who Loves That, Must First Be Wise And Good.

So Many Laws Argues So Many Sins.

In Those Vernal Seasons Of The Year When The Air Is Calm And Pleasant, It Were An Injury And Sullenness Against Nature Not To Go Out And See Her Riches, And Partake In Her Rejoicing With Heaven And Earth.

Ease Would Recant Vows Made In Pain, As Violent And Void.

That Practis'd Falsehood Under Saintly Shew, Deep Malice To Conceal, Couch'd With Revenge.