A Woman Is A Dish For The

The Gods Are Deaf To Hot And Peevish Vows. They Are Polluted Off'rings, More Abhorred! Than Spotted Livers In The Sacrifice.

In Peace There's Nothing So Becomes A Man As Modest Stillness And Humility.

The Brightness Of Her Cheek Would Shame Those Stars As Daylight Doth A Lamp; Her Eyes In Heaven Would Through The Airy Region Stream So Bright That Birds Would Sing, And Think It Were Not Night.

What, All So Soon Asleep! I Wish Mine Eyes Would, With Themselves, Shut Up My Thoughts.

O, What A Goodly Outside Falsehood Hath!