The Stroke Of Death Is As A

What A Fool Honesty Is.

Great Floods Have Flown From Simple Sources.

Oh, Injurious Love, That Respites Me A Life, Whose Very Comfort Is Still A Dying Horror

O! That A Man Might Know The End Of This Day's Business, Ere It Come; But It Sufficeth That The Day Will End, And Then The End Is Known.

O, Here Will I Set Up My Everlasting Rest And Shake The Yoke Of Inauspicious Stars From The World-wearied Flesh