Give It An Understanding, But

Be Wise As Thou Art Cruel, Do Not Press My Tongue-tied Patience With Too Much Disdain: Lest Sorrow Lend Me Words And Words Express, The Manner Of My Pity-wanting Pain.

Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind Thou Art Not So Unkind, As Man's Ingratitude.

There Live Not Three Good Men Unhanged In England; And One Of Them Is Fat And Grows Old.

Thus Sometimes Hath The Brightest Day A Cloud; And After Summer Evermore Succeeds Barren Winter, With His Wrathful Nipping Cold: So Cares And Joys Abound, As Seasons Fleet.

All His Successors Gone Before Him Have Done 't; And All His Ancestors That Come After Him May.