The spring is a lively emblem of the Resurrection.
Some laborers have hard hands, and old sinners have brawny consciences.
And time brings down what is both strong and tall. But plants new set to be eradicate, And buds new blown, to have so short a date, Is by his hand alone that guides nature and fate.
The world no longer lets me love, My hope and treasure are above.
Wickedness comes to its height by degrees. He that dares say of a less sin, Is it not a little one? will ere long say of a greater, Tush, God regards it not!
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.
I happy am, if well with you.
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, I here, though there, yet both but one.
My age I will not once lament, / But sing, my time so near is spent.
O Time the fatal wrack of mortal things, That draws oblivion's curtains over kings; Their sumptuous monuments, men know them not, Their names without a record are forgot, Their parts, their ports, their pomps all laid in th' dust Nor wit nor gold, nor buildings scape time's rust; But he whose name is graved in the white stone Shall last and shine when all of these are gone.
It is reported of the peacock that priding himself in his gay feathers he ruffles them up; but spying his black feet he soon lets fall his plumes. So he that glories in his gifts and adornings should look upon his corruptions, and that will damp his high thoughts.
Art can do much, but this maxim's most sure/A weak or wounded brain admits no cure.
He that would be content with a mean condition must not cast his eye upon one that is in a far better estate than himself, but let him look upon him that is lower than he is, and, if he see that such a one bears poverty comfortably, it will help to quiet him.
If ever wife was happy in a man, compare with me, ye women if you can.
A prosperous state makes a secure Christian, but adversity makes him Consider.
But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.
To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings/Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun/For my mean Pen are too superior things.
When I behold the heavens as in their prime, And then the earth (though old) still clad in green, The stones and trees, insensible of time, Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen
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