I Have Sounded The Very Base-string Of

Unquiet Meals Make Ill Digestions.

Grim-visaged War Hath Smoothed His Wrinkled Front; And Now, Instead Of Mounting Barbed Steeds To Fright The Souls Of Fearful Adversaries, He Capers Nimbly In A Lady's Chamber To The Lascivious Pleasing Of A Lute.

Would I Were Dead, If God's Good Will Were So, For What Is In This World But Grief And Woe?

Temptation Is The Fire That Brings Up The Scum Of The Heart.

By Medicine Life May Be Prolonged, Yet Death Will Seize The Doctor Too.