This Look Of Thine Will Hurl My

One Sin Another Doth Provoke.

I Have Bought Golden Opinions From All Sorts Of People.

Had It Pleas'd Heaven To Try Me With Affliction * * * I Should Have Found In Some Place Of My Soul A Drop Of Patience.

Give To A Gracious Message An Host Of Tongues, But Let Ill Tidings Tell Themselves When They Be Felt.

O World, World! Thus Is The Poor Agent Despised. O Traitors And Bawds, How Earnestly Are You Set A-work, And How Ill Requited! Why Should Our Endeavor Be So Loved, And The Performance So Loathed?