When Fortune Means To Men Most Good,

Tut, Man, One Fire Burns Out Another's Burning; One Pain Is Less'ned By Another's Anguish; Turn Giddy, And Be Holp By Backward Turning; One Desperate Grief Cures With Another's Languish.

The Object Of Art Is To Give Life A Shape.

Whats Here A Cup Closed In My True Loves Hand Poisin I See Hath Been His Timeless End. Oh Churl Drunk All And Left No Friendly Drop To Help Me After. I Will Kiss Thy Lips Some Poisin Doth Hang On Them, To Help Me Die With A Restorative. Thy Lips Are Warm. Yea Noise Then Ill Be Brief Oh Happy Dagger This Is Thy Sheath. There Rust And Let Me Die.

The Peace Of Heaven Is Theirs That Lift Their Swords, In Such A Just And Charitable War.

Look What Thy Soul Holds Dear, Imagine It To Lie That Way Thou Goest, Not Whence Thou Com'st. Suppose The Singing Birds Musicians, The Grass Whereon Thou Tread'st The Presence Strewed, The Flowers Fair Ladies, And Thy Steps No More Than A Delight Measure Or A Dance; For Gnarling Sorrow Hath Less Power To Bite The Man That Mocks At It And Sets It Light.