O, Here Will I Set

Or Are You Like The Painting Of A Sorrow, A Face Without A Heart?

If Our Virtues Did Not Go Forth Of Us, It Were All Alike As If We Had Them Not.

Assume A Virtue, If You Have It Not. That Monster, Custom, Who All Sense Doth Eat, Of Habits Devil, Is Angel Yet In This, That To The Use Of Actions Fair And Good He Likewise Gives A Frock Or Livery That Aptly Is Put On. Refrain Tonight, And That Shall Lend A Kind Of Easiness To The Next Abstinence; The Next More Easy; For Use Almost Can Change The Stamp Of Nature.

But Shall We Wear These Glories For A Day? Or Shall They Last, And We Rejoice In Them?

Thou Art An Elm, My Husband, I A Vine.