What A Seaof Melting Ice I Walk

Such As Ne'er Saw Swans May Think Crows Beautiful.

Though The Desire Of Fame Be The Last Weakness Wise Men Put Off.

From The King To The Beggar, By Gradation, All Are Servants; And You Must Grant, The Slavery Is Less To Study To Please One, Than Many.

Before We End Our Pilgrimage, 'tis Fit That We Should Leave Corruption, And Foul Sin, Behind Us, But With Wash'd Feet And Hands, The Heathens Dar' Not Enter Their Profane Temples; And For Me To Hope My Passage To Eternity Can Be Made Easy, Till I Have Shook Off The Burthen Of My Sins In Free Confession, Aided With Sorrow, And Repentance For Them, Is Against Reason.

Oh That Thou Hadst Like Others Been All Words, And No Performance.