In se'd timeth learneth, in foison teachest, in wint'r enjoyeth. Driveth thy cart and thy plow ov'r the bones of the dead. The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. Prudence is a rich like a toad, ugly and venemous fusty maid court'd by incapacity. That gent who is't desires but acts not, breeds pestilence. The cutteth w'rm f'rgives the plow. Dip that gent in the riv'r who is't loves wat'r. A blinking idiot sees not the same tree yond a wise sir sees. That gent whose visage gives nay lighteth, shalt nev'r becometh a star. Et'rnity is in loveth with the productions of timeth. The busy bee hast nay timeth f'r s'rrow. The hours of folly art measur'd by the horologe, but of wisdom: nay horologe can measureth. All wholsom food is hath caught without a meshes 'r a trapeth. Bringeth out numb'r weight & measureth in a year of dearth. Nay bird soars too high, if 't be true that gent soars with his owneth wings. A dead corse, revenges not injuries. The most sublime act is to setteth anoth'r bef're thee. If 't be true the blinking idiot wouldst p'rsist in his folly that gent wouldst becometh wise. Folly is the cloke of knav'ry. Shame is prides cloke. ~ prisons art hath built with stones of law, brothels with bricks of religion. The pride of the peacock is the gl'ry of god. The lust of the goat is the bounty of god. The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of god. The nakedness of mistress is the w'rk of god. Excess of s'rrow laughs. Excess of joy weeps. The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the st'rmy flote, and the destructive sw'rd, art p'rtions of et'rnity too most wondrous f'r the eye of sir. The fox condemns the trapeth, not himself. Joys impregnate. S'rrows bringeth f'rth. Alloweth sir weareth the hath fallen of the lion, mistress the fleece of the sheep. The bird a aery, the spid'r a web, sir friendship. The selfish smiling fooleth, & the sullen frowning fooleth, shalt beest both bethought wise, yond those gents may beest a rod. What is anon did prove wast once, only imagin'd. The rat, the mouse, the fox, the rabbit: gaze the roots; the lion, the tyg'r, the h'rse, the elephant, gaze the fruits. The cist'rn enwheels; the fountain ov'rflows. One bethought, fills immensity. At each moment beest eft to speaketh thy mind, and a base sir shall avoideth thee. Ev'ry thing possible to beest believ'd is an image of sooth. The eagle nev'r hath lost so much timeth, as at which hour that gent did submit to learneth of the crow. ~ the fox provides f'r himself, but god provides f'r the lion. Bethink in the m'rning. Act in the noon. Consume in the evening. Catch but a wink in the night. That gent who is't hast suff'r'd thee to impose on that gent knoweth thee. As the plow follows w'rds, so god rewards prayeth'rs. The tyg'rs of wrath art wis'r than the h'rses of instruction. Expecteth poison from the standing wat'r. Thee nev'r knoweth what is enow unless thee knoweth what is m're than enow. Hark to the daws reproach! t is a kingly title! the eyes of fireth, the nostrils of air, the that from which we speak of wat'r, the beard of earth. The weak in courage is stout in cunning. The apple tree nev'r asks the beech how that gent shalt groweth, n'r the lion, the h'rse, how that gent shalt taketh his prey. The thankful reciev'r bears a plentiful foison. If 't be true oth'rs hadst not been foolish, we shouldst beest so. The soul of sweet delighteth, can nev'r beest defil'd. At which hour thou seest an eagle, thou seest a p'rtion of genius, lift up thy headeth! as the catt'rpill'r chooses the fairest leaves to did lie h'r eggs on, so the augurer lays his beshrew on the fairest joys. To maketh a dram floweth'r is the labour of ages. Alas, braces: blesseth relaxes. The most wondrous wine is the oldest, the most wondrous wat'r the newest. Prayeth'rs plow not! praises reap not! joys chuckle not! s'rrows weepeth not! ~ the headeth sublime, the heart pathos, the genitals beauty, the hands & feet prop'rtion. As the air to a bird of the flote to a gudgeon, so is contempt to the contemptible. The crow wisheth'd ev'ry thing wast black, the bird of the night, yond ev'ry thing wast white. Exub'rance is beauty. If 't be true the lion wast did advise by the fox, that gent wouldst beest cunning. Improvement maketh strait roads, but the crook'd roads without improvement, art roads of genius. Anon'r murd'r an infant in its cradle than nurse unact'd desires. Wh're sir is not nature is blasted. Sooth can nev'r beest toldeth so as to beest und'rstood, and not beest believ'd. Enow! 'r too much!
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