Memory, Of All The Powers Of The

Good Men Are The Stars, The Planets Of The Ages Wherein They Live, And Illustrate The Times.

Though I Am Young, And Cannot Tell Either What Death Or Love Is Well, Yet I Have Heard They Both Bear Darts, And Both Do Aim At Human Hearts. And Then Again, I Have Been Told Love Wounds With Heat, As Death With Cold; So That I Fear They Do But Bring Extremes To Touch, And Mean One Thing. As In A Ruin We It Call One Thing To Be Blown Up, Or Fall; Or To Our End Like Way May Have By A Flash Of Lightning, Or A Wave; So Love’s Inflamèd Shaft Or Brand May Kill As Soon As Death’s Cold Hand; Except Love’s Fires The Virtue Have To Fight The Frost Out Of The Grave.

Cares That Have Entered Once In The Breast, Will Have Whole Possession Of The Rest.

A Good Life Is A Main Argument.

True Gladness Doth Not Always Speak; Joy, Bred And Born But In The Tongue, Is Weak.