Time ... Thou Ceaseless Lackey To Eternity.

He That Commends Me To Mine Own Content Commends Me To The Thing I Cannot Get.

If To Do Were As Easy As To Know What Were Good To Do, Chapels Had Been Churches, And Poor Men's Cottage Princes' Palaces.

So Loving To My Mother, That He Might Not Beteem The Winds Of Heaven, Visit Her Face' Too Roughly.

Give Sorrow Words; The Grief That Does Not Speak Knits Up The O-er Wrought Heart And Bids It Break.

To Saucy Doubts And Fears.