My soul, sit thou a patient looker-on;
Judge not the play before the play is done:
Her plot hath many changes; every day
Speaks a new scene; the last act crowns the play.
More verses by Francis Quarles
- The Shortness Of Life
- Why Dost Thou Shade Thy Lovely Face?
- My Beloved Is Mine And I Am His
- On The World
- From 'A Feast For Wormes'