To Sing Of Wars, Of

Iron Till It Be Thoroughly Heated Is Incapable To Be Wrought; So God Sees Good To Cast Some Men Into The Furnace Of Affliction, And Then Beats Them On His Anvil Into What Frame He Desires.

Satan, That Great Angler, Hath His Sundry Baits For Sundry Tempers Of Men, Which They All Catch Greedily At, But Few Perceive The Hook Till It Be Too Late.

We Must, Therefore, Be Here As Strangers And Pilgrims, That We May Plainly Declare That We Seek A City Above.

If Ever Two Were One, Then Surely We. If Ever Man Were Lov'd By Wife, Then Thee; If Ever Wife Was Happy In A Man, Compare With Me, Ye Women, If You Can I Prize Thy Love More Than Whole Mines Of Gold. Or All The Riches That The East Doth Hold. My Love Is Such That Rivers Cannot Quench, Nor Ought But Love From Thee, Give Recompense. Thy Love Is Such I Can No Way Repay, The Heavens Reward Thee Manifold Repay, Then While We Live, In Love Let's So Persevere That When We Live No More, We May Live Ever.

Art Can Do Much, But This Maxim's Most Sure/a Weak Or Wounded Brain Admits No Cure.