O the world is but a word; were it all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were it gone!

My age is as a lusty winter, frosty but kindly.

This thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.

'Tis one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall.

This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.

None can cure their harms by wailing them.

We see which way the stream of time doth run.