When Truth Kills Truth, O Devilish Holy

I, Thus Neglecting Worldly Ends, All Dedicated To Closeness And The Bettering Of My Mind.

For What I Will, I Will, And There An End.

A Wretched Soul, Bruised With Adversity, We Bid Be Quiet When We Hear It Cry; But Were We Burdened With Light Weight Of Pain, As Much Or More We Should Ourselves Complain.

Enough No More; Tis Not So Sweet Now As It Was Before.

Cupid Is A Knavish Lad, Thus To Make Poor Females Mad.