Foul Deeds Will Rise, Though

There Are Many Events In The Womb Of Time Which Will Be Delivered.

Every Subject's Duty Is The Kings, But Every Subject's Soul Is His Own.

If I Profane With My Unworthiest Hand This Holy Shrine, The Gentle Fine Is This: My Lips, Two Blushing Pilgrims, Ready Stand To Smooth That Rough Touch With A Tender Kiss.

I Can Get No Remedy Against This Consumption Of The Purse: Borrowing Only Lingers And Lingers It Out, But The Disease Is Incurable.

For Thy Sweet Love Remember'd Such Wealth Brings That Then I Scorn To Change My State With Kings.