That Truth Should Be Silent I Had

In Scorn Of Nature, Art Gave Lifeless Life.

Tis Mad Idolatry To Make The Service Greater Than The God.

Methinks I Am A Prophet New Inspired And Thus, Expiring, Do Foretell Of Him: His Rash Fierce Blaze Of Riot Cannot Last, For Violent Fires Soon Burn Out Themselves; Small Show'rs Last Long, But Sudden Storms Are Short; He Tires Betimes That Spurs Too Fast Betimes; With Eager Feeding Doth Choke The Feeder; Light Vanity, Insatiate Cormorant, Consuming Means, Soon Preys Upon Itself.

All Dark And Comfortless.

Anger's My Meat. I Sup Upon Myself, And So Shall Starve With Feeding.