Farewell, Fair Cruelty.

Love And Meekness, Lord, Become A Churchman Better Than Ambition: Win Straying Souls With Modesty Again, Cast None Away.

I Can Get No Remedy Against This Consumption Of The Purse: Borrowing Only Lingers And Lingers It Out, But The Disease Is Incurable.

The Stroke Of Death Is As A Lover's Pinch, Which Hurts And Is Desired.

I Am Thy Father's Spirit; Doom'd For A Certain Term To Walk The Night And, For The Day, Confin'd To Fast In Fires, Till The Foul Crimes, Done In My Days Of Nature, Are Burnt And Purg'd Away.

Maids Want Nothing But Husbands, And When They Have Them, They Want Everything.