So Quick Bright Things Come To Confusion.​​​​​​

Tis Safter To Be That Which We Destroy Than By Destruction Dwell In Doubtful Joy.

But We Have Reason To Cool Our Raging Motions, Our Carnal Stings, Our Unbitted Lusts; Whereof I Take This That You Call Love To Bea Sect Or Scion.... It Is Merely A Lust Of The Blood And A Permission Of The Will.

If Thou Engrossest All The Griefs Are Thine, Thou Robb'st Me Of A Moiety.

Reputation Is An Idle And Most False Imposition; Oft Got Without Merit, And Lost Without Deserving.

Blow, Winds, And Crack Your Cheeks! Rage! Blow! You Cataracts And Hurricanoes, Spout Till You Have Drenched Our Teeples, Drowned The Cocks! You Sulphurour And Thought-executing Fires, Vaunt-couriers To Oak-cleaving Thunderbolts, Singe My White Head! And Thou, All-shaking Thunder, Strike Flat The Thick Rotundity O' The World! Crack Nature's Molds, All Germens Spill At Once That Make Ingrateful Man!