My Heart Contains Of Good, Wise, Just,

A Good Book Is The Precious Lifeblood Of A Master Spirit.

But When Lust By Unchaste Looks, Loose Gestures, And Foul Talk, But Most By Lewd And Lavish Arts Of Sin, Lets In Defilement To The Inward Parts, The Soul Grows Clotted By Contagion, Imbodies And Imbrutes, Till She Quite Lose The Divine Property Of Her First Being.

No Date Prefixed Directs Me In The Starry Rubric Set.

But What More Oft In Nations Grown Corrupt, And By Their Vices Brought To Servitude, Than To Love Bondage More Than Liberty, Bondage With Ease Than Strenuous Liberty.

A Short Retirement Urges A Sweet Return.