No, Not Jove Himselfe, At One Time,

Before Man's Fall The Rose Was Born,st. Ambrose Says, Without The Thorn;but For Man's Fault Then Was The Thornwithout The Fragrant Rose-bud Born; But Ne'er The Rose Without The Thorn.

Praise They That Will Times Past, I Joy To See My Selfe Now Live: This Age Best Pleaseth Mee.

When The Artless Doctor Sees No One Hope, But Of His Fees, And His Skill Runs On The Lees; Sweet Spirit, Comfort Me! When His Potion And His Pill, Has, Or None, Or Little Skill, Meet For Nothing, But To Kill; Sweet Spirit, Comfort Me!

A Spark Neglected Makes A Mighty Fire.

Each Must In Virtue Strive For To Excel; That Man Lives Twice That Lives The First Life Well.