Beware Of Entrance To A Quarrel.

Die For Adultery! No: The Wren Goes To't, And The Small Gilded Fly Does Lecher In My Sight

And Gentlemen In England Now-a-bed Shall Think Themselves Accurs'd They Were Not Here, And Hold Their Manhoods Cheap Whiles Any Speaks That Fought With Us Upon Saint Crispin's Day.

But Here's The Joy: My Friend And I Are One, Sweet Flattery!

Now I Am Past All Comforts Here, But Prayer.

The Brain May Devise Laws For The Blood, But A Hot Temper Leaps O'er A Cold Decree.