Was Ever Grief Like Mine?

He That Hopes Not For Good, Feares Not Evill.

Corn Is Cleaned With Wind, And The Soul With Chastening

After So Many Deaths I Live And Write.

Ill Vessels Seldome Miscarry.

Pursue Not A Victory Too Far. He Hath Conquered Well That Hath Made His Enemy Fly; Thou Mayest Beat Him To A Desperate Resistance, Which May Ruin Thee.