But Miserable Most, To Love Unloved? This

Confess Yourself To Heaven, Repent What's Past, Avoid What Is To Come, And Do Not Spread The Compost On The Weeds To Make Them Ranker.

You Are Not Worth Another Word, Else I'd Call You Knave.

Time Is Like A Fashionable Host That Slightly Shakes His Parting Guest By The Hand, And With His Arm Outstretch'd, As He Would Fly, Grasps In The Comer.

They Are Fairies; He That Speaks To Them Shall Die. I'll Wink And Couch; No Man Their Works Must Eye.

Now Let It Work. Mischief, Thou Art Afoot. Take Thou What Course Thou Wilt.