true apothecary thy drugs art quick

For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.

Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.

This making of Christians will raise the price of hogs.

For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.

God shall be my hope, my stay, my guide and lantern to my feet.

All pride is willing pride.