Honor, Thou Strong Idol Of

For The Uttering Sweetly And Properly The Conceit Of The Mind, English Hath It Equally With Any Other Tongue In The World.

My Thoughts, Imprisoned In My Secret Woes, With Flamy Breaths Do Issue Oft In Sound.

Friendship Is Made Fast By Interwoven Benefits.

Yet Sighes, Deare Sighes, Indeeds True Friends You Are That Do Not Leave Your Left Friend At The Wurst, But, As You With My Breast, I Oft Have Nurst So, Gratefull Now, You Waite Upon My Care.

The Heavens Do Not Send Good Haps In Handfuls; But Let Us Pick Out Our Good By Little, And With Care, From Out Much Bad, That Still Our Little World May Know Its King.