Ay Me! Sad Hours Seem Long.

So Curses All Eve's Daughters Of What Complexion Soever.

Thou Sodden-witted Lord! Thou Hast No More Brain Than I Have In Mine Elbows.

How Many Cowards Whose Hearts Are All As False As Stairs Of Sand, Wear Yet Upon Their Chins The Beards Of Hercules And Frowning Mars, Who Inward Searched, Have Livers White As Milk!

But I Am Constant As The Northern Star, Of Whose True Fixed And Resting Quality There Is No Fellow In The Firmament.

I May Command Where I Adore.