Bad Is The Trade That

And To The English Court Assemble Now, From Every Region, Apes Of Idleness!

Tell Them, That, To Ease Them Of Their Griefs, Their Fear Of Hostile Strokes, Their Aches, Losses, Their Pangs Of Love, With Other Incident Throes That Nature's Fragile Vessel Doth Sustain In Life's Uncertain Voyage, I Will Some Kindness Do Them.

I Have A Kind Soul That Would Give You Thanks. And Knows Not How To Do It But With Tears.

O My Good Lord, That Comfort Comes Too Late, 'tis Like A Pardon After Execution. That Gentle Physic, Given In Time, Had Cured Me; But Now I Am Past All Comforts Here But Prayers.

Some Cupid Kills With Arrows, Some With Traps.