His Heart As Far From Fraud As

So May The Outward Shows Be Least Themselves: The World Is Still Deceived With Ornament. In Law, What Plea So Tainted And Corrupt, But, Being Seasoned With A Gracious Voice, Obscures The Show Of Evil? In Religion, What Damned Error, But Some Sober Brow Will Bless It And Approve It With A Text, Hiding The Grossness With Fair Ornament? There Is No Vice So Simple But Assumes Some Mark Of Virtue On His Outward Parts.

You Lack The Season Of All Natures, Sleep.

I Love You More Than Word Can Wield The Matter, Dearer Than Eye-sight, Space And Liberty

In Sweet Music Is Such Art: Killing Care And Grief Of Heart Fall Asleep, Or Hearing, Die.

O Lord That Lends Me Life, Lend Me A Heart Replete With Thankfulness!