Ah Fair Zenocrate, Divine Zenocrate, Fair Is

Our Swords Shall Play The Orators For Us.

Jigging Veins Of Rhyming Mother Wits.

Honour Is Purchas'd By The Deeds We Do.

Accurst Be He That First Invented War.

Cut Is The Branch That Might Have Grown Full Straight, And Burned Is Apollo's Laurel Bough, That Sometime Grew Within This Learned Man. Faustus Is Gone.