Leave Us To Our Free Election.

The Iron Tongue Of Midnight Hath Told Twelve Lovers, To Bed; 'tis Almost Fairy Time. I Fear We Shall Outstep The Coming Morn As Much As We This Night Over-watch'd.

Be Still Prepared For Death: And Death Or Life Shall Thereby Be The Sweeter.

By Being Seldom Seen, I Could Not Stir But Like A Comet I Was Wondered At.

The Will Of Man Is By His Reason Sway'd.

Refrain To-night; 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, And Either Master The Devil Or Throw Him Out With Wondrous Potency.