If Thou Engrossest All The Griefs Are

We Must Be Gentle Now We Are Gentlemen.

Some Innocents 'scape Not The Thunderbolt.

But What's So Blessed-fair That Fears No Blot? Thou Mayst Be False, And Yet I Know It Not.

Modest Wisdom Plucks Me From Over-credulous Haste.

I Think The Devil Will Not Have Me Damned, Lest The Oil That's In Me Should Set Hell On Fire.