Love, Which Teacheth Me That Thou And

O Momentary Grace Of Mortal Men, Which We More Hunt For Than The Grace Of God!

Knowing I Lov'd My Books, He Furnish'd Me From Mine Own Library With Volumes That I Prize Above My Dukedom.

Scarce Can I Speak, My Choler Is So Great. Oh! I Could Hew Up Rocks, And Fight With Flint.

One Sin, I Know, Another Doth Provoke. Murder's As Near To Lust As Flame To Smoke.

Death, A Necessary End, Will Come When It Will Come