Weep Not, Sweet Queen, For Trickling Tears

Nor Stony Tower, Nor Walls Of Beaten Brass, Nor Airless Dungeon, Nor Strong Links Of Iron, Can Be Retentive To The Strength Of Spirit; But Life, Being Weary Of These Worldly Bars, Never Lacks Power To Dismiss Itself.

Wooing, Wedding, And Repenting Is As A Scotch Jig, A Measure, And A Cinque-pace: The First Suit Is Hot And Hasty Like A Scotch Jig--and Full As Fantastical; The Wedding, Mannerly Modest, As A Measure, Full Of State And Ancientry; And Then Comes Repentance And With His Bad Legs Falls Into The Cinque-pace Faster And Faster, Till He Sink Into His Grave.

Come Not Within The Measure Of My Wrath.

The Wound Of Peace Is Surety, Surety Secure; But Modest Doubt Is Called The Beacon Of The Wise, The Tent That Searches To Th' Bottom Of The Worst.

An Habitation Giddy And Unsure Hath He That Buildeth On The Vulgar Heart.