A Breath Thou Art, Servile To All

Bad Is The Trade That Must Play Fool To Sorrow, Ang'ring Itself And Others.

Assume A Virtue, If You Have It Not. That Monster, Custom, Who All Sense Doth Eat, Of Habits Devil, Is Angel Yet In This, That To The Use Of Actions Fair And Good He Likewise Gives A Frock Or Livery That Aptly Is Put On. Refrain Tonight, And That Shall Lend A Kind Of Easiness To The Next Abstinence; The Next More Easy; For Use Almost Can Change The Stamp Of Nature.

Their Manners Are More Gentle, Kind, Than Of Our Human Generation You Shall Find.

The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen Arrows Make.

Send Danger From The East Unto The West, So Honor Cross It From The North To South.