God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice.

Can there be worse sickness, than to know that we are never well, nor can be so?

All Kings, and all their favorites, All glory of honors, beauties, wits, The sun itself, which makes times, as they pass, Is elder by a year, now, than it was When thou and I first one another saw: All other things, to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay; This, no tomorrow hash, nor yesterday, Running, it never runs from us away, But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.

But he who loveliness within Hath found, all outward loathes, For he who color loves, and skin, Loves but their oldest clothes.

To an incompetent judge I must not lie, but I may be silent; to a competent I must answer.

If I lose at play, I blaspheme; if my fellow loses, he blasphemes. So, God is always the loser.

As God loves a cheerful giver, so he also loves a cheerful taker. Who takes hold of his gifts with a glad heart.