Praise From An Enemy Smells Of Craft.

The Wife, Where Danger Or Dishonour Lurks, Safest And Seemliest By Her Husband Stays, Who Guards Her, Or With Her The Worst Endures.

His Sleep Was Aery Light, From Pure Digestion Bred.

Evil On Itself Shall Back Recoil.

The Angel Ended, And In Adam's Ear So Charming Left His Voice, That He Awhile Thought Him Still Speaking, Still Stood Fix'd To Hear.

I Hate When Vice Can Bolt Her Arguments, And Virtue Has No Tongue To Check Her Pride.