No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.
Now God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the sun at noon to illustrate all shadows, as the sheaves in harvest, to fill all penuries, all occasions invite his mercies, and all times are his seasons.
I have done one braver thing than all the Worthies did, and yet a braver thence doth spring, which is, to keep that hid.
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