What Ugly Sights Of Death Within Mine

This Goodly Frame, The Earth, Seems To Me A Sterile Promontory.

The Seasons Change Their Manners, As The Year Had Found Some Months Asleep And Leapt Them Over.

When Workmen Strive To Do Better Than Well, They Do Confound Their Skill In Covetousness.

My Nature Is Subdued To What It Works In, Like The Dyer's Hand.

If One Good Deed In All My Life I Did, I Do Repent It From My Very Soul.