O, How Wretched Is That

I Shall Show The Cinders Of My Spirits Through The Ashes Of My Chance.

Some Rise By Sin, And Some By Virtue Fall.

Glory Grows Guilty Of Detested Crimes.

Best Men Oft Are Moulded Out Of Faults.

No, No; 'tis All Men's Office To Speak Patience To Those That Wring Under The Load Of Sorrow, But No Man's Virtue Nor Sufficiency To Be So Moral When He Shall Endure The Like Himself. Therefore Give Me No Counsel: My Griefs Cry Louder Than Advertisement.