How Much An Ill Word May Empoison

Keep Thy Foot Out Of Brothels, Thy Hand Out Of Plackets, Thy Pen From Lender's Books, And Defy The Foul Fiend.

Some Glory In Their Birth , Some In Their Skill , Some In Their Wealth , Some In Their Bodies' Force , Some In Their Garments, Though New-fangled Ill; Some In Their Hawks And Hounds , Some In Their Horse ; And Every Humor Hath His Adjunct Pleasure , Wherein It Finds A Joy Above The Rest .

There's Villainous News Abroad.

Have Not Saints Lips, And Holy Palmers Too Ay, Pilgrim, Lips That They Must Use In Prayer.

Yet This My Comfort: When Your Words Are Done, My Woes End Likewise With The Evening Sun.