Cease To Lament For That Thou Canst

If Little Faults Proceeding On Distemper Shall Not Be Winked At, How Shall We Stretch Our Eye When Capital Crimes, Chewed, Swallowed, And Digested, Appear Before Us?

Thy Food Is Such As Hath Been Belch'd On By Infected Lungs.

A Cup Of Hot Wine With Not A Drop Of Allaying Tiber In 't.

An Habitation Giddy And Unsure Hath He That Buildeth On The Vulgar Heart.

Such Tricks Hath Strong Imagination, That, If It Would But Apprehend Some Joy, It Comprehends Some Bringer Of That Joy; Or In The Night, Imagining Some Fear, How Easy Is A Bush Supposed A Bear!