Virtue Is Bold, And Goodness Never Fearful.

Men's Faults Do Seldom To Themselves Appear.

Confusion Now Hath Made His Masterpiece.

I Do Know When The Blood Burns, How Prodigal The Soul Lends The Tongue Vows.

O Good Old Man, How Well In Thee Appears The Constant Service Of The Antique World, When Service Sweat For Duty, Not For Meed! Thou Art Not For The Fashion Of These Times, Where None Will Sweat But For Promotion, And Having That Do Choke Their Service Up Even With The Having. . . .

She Says I Am Not Fair, That I Lack Manners; She Calls Me Proud, And That She Could Not Love Me, Were Man As Rare As Phoenix.