Patch Up Thine Old Body For Heaven.

Be Not Afeard; The Isle Is Full Of Noises.

He Makes A July's Day Short As December.

What Valor Were It, When A Cur Doth Grin, For One To Thrust His Hand Between His Teeth, When He Might Spurn Him With His Foot Away?

Tut, Man, One Fire Burns Out Another's Burning; One Pain Is Less'ned By Another's Anguish; Turn Giddy, And Be Holp By Backward Turning; One Desperate Grief Cures With Another's Languish.

Opinion's But A Fool, That Makes Us Scan The Outward Habit By The Inward Man.