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| Deeds | This is the Thing that I was born to do. | | Love | Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using. | | Mind | As that the walls worn thin, permit the mind To look out through, and his Frailty find. | | Public | This many-headed monster, Multitude. | | Public | The key of the fields . | | Silence | Striving to tell his woes, words would not come; For light cares speak, when mighty griefs are dumb. | | Sleep | Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born; Relive my languish, and restore the light. | | Success | Th' aspirer, once attain'd unto the top, Cuts off those means by which himself got up. | | - Page 1 | |
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