The Web Of Our Life Is Of

Tears Harden Lust, Though Marble Wear With Raining.

To You Your Father Should Be As A God; One That Composed Your Beauties, Yea, And One To Whom You Are But As A Form In Wax, By Him Imprinted, And Within His Power To Leave The Figure Or Disfigure It.

Love Is Blind And Lovers Cannot See The Pretty Follies That Themselves Commit

Friendship's Full Of Dregs.

A Beggar's Book Outworths A Noble's Blood.