A Stirring Dwarf We Do

O, Let My Books Be Then The Eloquence And Dumb Presages Of My Speaking Breast.

O Father Abram, What These Christians Are, Whose Own Hard Dealing Teaches Them Suspect The Thoughts Of Others!

Mean And Mighty, Rotting Together, Have One Dust.

But Till All Graces Be In One Woman, One Woman Shall Not Come In My Grace. Rich She Shall Be, That's Certain; Wise, Or I'll None; Virtuous, Or I'll Never Cheapen Her; Fair, Or I'll Never Look On Her; Mild, Or Come Not Near Me; Noble, Or Not I For An Angel; Of Good Discourse, And Excellent Musician And Her Hair Shall Be Of What Colour It Shall Please God.

Out Of Her Favour, Where I Am In Love.