Well, As He Brews, So Shall He

I Feel My Griefs Too, And There Scarce Is Ground Upon My Flesh T'inflict Another Wound. Yet Dare I Not Complain, Or Wish For Death With Holy Paul; Lest It Be Thought The Breath Of Discontent; Or That These Prayers Be For Weariness Of Life, Not Love Of Thee.

I Have Discovered That A Famed Familiarity In Great Ones Is A Note Of Certain Usurpation On The Less; For Great And Popular Men Feign Themselves To Be Servants To Others To Make Those Slaves To Them.

Indeed There's A Woundy Luck In Names.

Heaven Prepares Good Men With Crosses; But No Ill Can Happen To A Good Man.

To The Old, Long Life And Treasure; To The Young, All Health And Pleasure.