The Weakest Kind Of Fruit

That Is The Way To Lay The City Flat, To Bring The Roof To The Foundation, And Bury All, Which Yet Distinctly Ranges, In Heaps And Piles Of Ruin.

My Stronger Guilt Defeats My Strong Intent.

O, That Our Fathers Would Applause Our Loves, To Seal Our Happiness With Hteir Consents!

O Coward Conscience, How Dost Thou Afflict Me!

Great Men May Jest With Saints; 'tis Wit In Them; But, In The Less Foul Profanation.