Time, That Takes Survey Of All The

Like One Who Having Into Truth, By Telling Of It, Made Such A Sinner Of His Memory, To Credit His Own Lie.

No, I Will Be The Pattern Of All Patience; I Will Say Nothing.

But She Makes Hungry Where She Most Satisfies.

And All My Mother Came Into Mine Eyes And Gave Me Up To Tears.

O Momentary Grace Of Mortal Men, Which We More Hunt For Than The Grace Of God!