God Wisheth None Should Wreck

In Small Proportions We Just Beauties See; And In Short Measures, Life May Perfect Be.

Though I Am Young, And Cannot Tell Either What Death Or Love Is Well, Yet I Have Heard They Both Bear Darts, And Both Do Aim At Human Hearts. And Then Again, I Have Been Told Love Wounds With Heat, As Death With Cold; So That I Fear They Do But Bring Extremes To Touch, And Mean One Thing. As In A Ruin We It Call One Thing To Be Blown Up, Or Fall; Or To Our End Like Way May Have By A Flash Of Lightning, Or A Wave; So Love’s Inflamèd Shaft Or Brand May Kill As Soon As Death’s Cold Hand; Except Love’s Fires The Virtue Have To Fight The Frost Out Of The Grave.

Drink Today, And Drown All Sorrow; You Shall Perhaps Not Do It Tomorrow; Best, While You Have It, Use Your Breath; There Is No Drinking After Death.

It Is An Art To Have So Much Judgment As To Apparel A Lie Well, To Give It A Good Dressing.

He Was Not Of An Age, But For All Time!