We Were Not Born To Sue, But

Thou Ever Young, Fresh, Lov'd, And Delicate Wooer, Whose Blush Doth Thaw The Consecrated Snow

Love Is A Smoke Made With The Fume Of Sighs.

Set We Forward; Let A Roman And A British Ensign Wave Friendly Together. So Through Lud's Town March, And In The Temple Of The Great Jupiter Our Peace We'll Ratify, Seal It With Feasts. Set On There! Never Was A War Did Cease, Ere Bloody Hands Were Washed, With Such A Peace.

...too Much Sadness Hath Congealed Your Blood,and Melancholy Is The Nurse Of Frenzy.

Good Friend For Jesus Sake Forbeare, To Digg The Dust Encloased Heare! Blest Be The Man That Spares Thes Stones, And Curst Be He That Moves My Bones.