Thoughts shut up want air, And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.
To frown at pleasure, and to smile in pain.
A God all mercy is a God unjust.
'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.
Be wise today; 'tis madness to defer. Next day the fatal precedent will plead; thus on, til wisdom is pushed our of life.
As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.