When He Is Best, He Is A

The Poor World Is Almost Six Thousand Years Old, And In All This Time There Was Not Any Man Died In His Own Person, Videlicet, In A Love-cause.

Though Death Be Poor, It Ends A Mortal Woe.

No Reckoning Made, But Sent To My Account With All My Imperfections On My Head.

He Shall Spurn Fate, Scorn Death, And Bear His Hopes 'bove Wisdom, Grace And Fear: And You All Know, Security Is Mortals' Chiefest Enemy.

And Oft, My Jealousy Shapes Faults That Are Not.