Confess And Be Hanged.

Love Is Not Ful Of Pittie (as Men Say) But Deaffe And Cruell, Where He Meanes To Pray.

Why Should You Love Him Whom The World Hates So? Because He Love Me More Than All The World.

Time Doth Run With Calm And Silent Foot, Shortening My Days And Thread Of Vital Life.

Cut Is The Branch That Might Have Grown Full Straight, And Burned Is Apollo's Laurel Bough, That Sometime Grew Within This Learned Man. Faustus Is Gone.

I Count Religion But A Childish Toy, And Hold There Is No Sin But Ignorance.