Keep Us, Lord, So Awake In The

Filled With Her Love, May I Be Rather Grown Mad With Much Heart, Than Idiot With None.

All Whom War, Dearth, Age, Agues, Tyrannies, Despair, Law, Chance, Hath Slain.

Though Truth And Falsehood Be Near Twins, Yet Truth A Little Elder Is.

Busy Old Fool, Unruly Sun, Why Dost Thou Thus, Through Windows, And Through Curtains, Call On Us? Must To Thy Motions Lovers'seasons Run? Saucy Pedantic Wretch, Go Chide Late Schoolboys, And Sour Prentices, Go Tell Court-huntsmen That The King Will Ride, Call Countryants To Harvest Offices; Love, All Alike, No Season Knows, Nor Clime, Nor Hours, Days, Months, Which Are The Rags Of Time.

The Difference Between The Reason Of Man And The Instinct Of The Beast Is This, That The Beast Does But Know, But The Man Knows That He Knows.