The Miserable Have No Other Medicine But

What Is A Man, If His Chief Good And Market Of His Time Be But To Sleep And Feed? A Beast, No More. Sure He That Made Us With Such Large Discourse, Looking Before And After, Gave Us Not That Capability And God-like Reason To Fust In Us Unused.

I Know A Place Where The Wild Thyme Blows, Where Oxlips And The Nodding Violet Grows.

When Most I Wink, Then Do My Eyes Best See

The Path Is Smooth That Leadeth On To Danger.

My Tongue Will Tell The Anger Of My Heart, Or Else My Heart Concealing It Will Break.