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 When I am dead I shall be well at ease.— God! what good hope!—Thou art over eloquent.— I say no more.—I care not though thou cease.—

Whence is this ill?—From sorrow and not from sin. When Saturn packed my wallet up for me I well believe he put these ills therein.— Fool, wilt thou make thy servant lord of thee? Hear now the wise king's counsel; thus saith he: All power upon the stars a wise man hath; There is no planet that shall do him scathe.— Nay, as they made me I grow and I decrease.— What say'st thou?—Truly this is all my faith.— I say no more.—I care not though thou cease.—

Wouldst thou live still?—God help me that I may!— Then thou must—What? turn penitent and pray?— Read always—What?—Grave words and good to say;