My Soul I'll Pour Into Thee.

The First Act's Doubtful, But We Say, It Is The Last Commends The Play.

None Pities Him That Is In The Snare, Who Warned Before, Would Not Beware.

Thus Times Do Shift, Each Thing His Turn Does Hold; New Things Succeed, As Former Things Grow Old.

A Little Saint Best Fits A Little Shrine, A Little Prop Best Fits A Little Vine, As My Small Cruse Best Fits My Little Wine.

What Though The Sea Be Calm? Trust To The Shore, Ships Have Been Drown'd, Where Late They Danc'd Before.