The Rain, It Raineth Every Day.

Yet Writers Say, As In The Sweetest Bud The Eating Canter Dwells, So Eating Love Inhabits In The Finest Wits Of All.

Cold Indeed, And Labor Lost: Then Farewell Heat, And Welcome Frost!

In Religion, What Damned Error But Some Sober Brow Will Bless It, And Approve It With A Text, Hiding The Grossness With Fair Ornament?

I Will Not Choose What Many Men Desire, Because I Will Not Jump With Common Spirits And Rank Me With The Barbarous Multitudes.

Thou Hast Nor Youth Nor Age But As It Were An After Dinner Sleep Dreaming Of Both.