Grief Makes One Hour Ten.

I Durst Not Laugh For Fear Of Opening My Lips And Receiving The Bad Air.

Anger Is Like A Full Hot Horse, Who Being Allowed His Way, Self-mettle Tires Him.

What's The News? None, My Lord, But That The World's Grown Honest, Then Is Doomsday Near.

How Can Tyrants Safely Govern Home, Unless Abroad They Purchase Great Alliance.

Love Is My Sin, And Thy Dear Virtue Hate, Hate Of My Sin, Grounded On Sinful Loving.