I'll Be Damned For Never

Cease To Lament For That Thou Canst Not Help; And Study Help For That Which Thou Lamentest.

Thrice Is He Arm'd That Hath His Quarrel Just, And He But Naked, Though Lock'd Up In Steel, Whose Conscience With Injustice Is Corrupted.

Enough No More; Tis Not So Sweet Now As It Was Before.

O, The Blood More Stirs To Rouse A Lion Than To Start A Hare!

Tax Not So Bad A Voice To Slander Music Any More Than Once.