In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures, life may perfect be.
Let argument bear no unmusical sound.
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.
Love that is ignorant and hatred have almost the same ends.
He that departs with his own honesty For Vulgar , doth it too dearly buy.
Who will not judge him worthy to be robbed That sets his doors wide open to a thief, And shows the felon where his treasure lies?