But Thought's The Slave Of

Assume A Virtue, If You Have It Not. That Monster, Custom, Who All Sense Doth Eat, Of Habits Devil, Is Angel Yet In This, That To The Use Of Actions Fair And Good He Likewise Gives A Frock Or Livery That Aptly Is Put On. Refrain Tonight, And That Shall Lend A Kind Of Easiness To The Next Abstinence; The Next More Easy; For Use Almost Can Change The Stamp Of Nature.

World, World, O World! But That Thy Strange Mutations Make Us Hate Thee/ Life Would Not Yield To Age.

Make Use Of Time, Let Not Advantage Slip; Beauty Within Itself Should Not Be Wasted: Fair Flowers That Are Not Gather'd In Their Prime Rot And Consume Themselves In Little Time.

Thou Art A Soul In Bliss; But I Am Bound Upon A Wheel Of Fire; That Mine Own Tears Do Scald Like Molten Lead.

The Apprehension Of The Good Gives But The Greater Feeling To The Worse.