Wickedness Is Its Own Punishment.

Things Temporal Are Sweeter In The Expectation, Things Eternal Are Sweeter In The Fruition; The First Shames Thy Hope, The Second Crowns It; It Is A Vain Journey, Whose End Affords Less Pleasure Than The Way.

Be As Far From Desiring The Popular Love As Fearful To Deserve The Popular Hate; Ruin Dwells In Both: The One Will Hug Thee To Death; The Other Will Crush Thee To Destruction: To Escape The First, Be Not Ambitious; To Avoid The Second, Be Not Seditious.

Alas! Fond Child, How Are Thy Thoughts Beguil'd To Hope For Honey From A Nest Of Wasps? Thou May'st As Well Go Seek For Ease In Hell, Or Sprightly Nectar From The Mouths Of Asps. The World's A Hive, From Whence Thou Canst Derive No Good, But What Thy Soul's Vexation Brings: But Case Thou Meet Some Petty-petty Sweet, Each Drop Is Guarded With A Thousand Stings.

The World's A Printing-house, Our Words, Our Thoughts, Our Deeds, Are Characters Of Several Sizes. Each Soul Is A Compos'tor, Of Whose Faults The Levites Are Correctors; Heaven Revises. Death Is The Common Press, From Whence Being Driven, We're Gather'd, Sheet By Sheet, And Bound For Heaven.

Use Law And Physic Only For Necessity; They That Use Them Otherwise Abuse Themselves Unto Weak Bodies, And Light Purses; They Are Good Remedies, Bad Businesses, And Worse Recreations.