O Father Abram, What These Christians Are,

Now Old Desire Doth In His Deathbed Lie, And Young Affection Gapes To Be His Heir; That Fair For Which Love Groan'd For And Would Die, With Tender Juliet Match'd, Is Now Not Fair.

The Time Of Life Is Short; To Spend That Shortness Basely Were Too Long.

Your "if" Is The Only Peacemaker; Much Virtue In "if.

And Yet, By Heaven, I Think My Love As Rare As Any She Belied With False Compare.

Let None Presume To Wear An Undeserved Dignity. O That Estates, Degrees, And Offices Were Not Derived Corruptly, And That Clear Honour Were Purchased By The Merit Of The Wearer!