Well, If Fortune Be A Woman, She's

To Be In Love, Where Scorn Is Bought With Groans; Coy Looks, With Heart-sore Sighs; One Fading Moment's Mirth

Affliction Is Enamoured Of Thy Parts, And Thou Art Wedded To Calamity.

No Place Indeed Should Murder Sanctuarize; Revenge Should Have No Bounds.

The Rose Looks Fair, But Fairer We It Deem For That Sweet Odour Which Doth In It Live.

Be Just, And Fear Not.