Delay Leads Impotent And Snail-paced Beggary.

I Shall Despair. There Is No Creature Loves Me; And If I Die No Soul Will Pity Me: And Wherefore Should They, Since That I Myself Find In Myself No Pity To Myself?

Sweet Recreation Barred, What Doth Ensue But Moody And Dull Melancholy, Kinsman To Grim And Comfortless Despair.

Enough No More; Tis Not So Sweet Now As It Was Before.

Nothing Comes From Doing Nothing.

Twas A Clever Quibble. Here, A Garment For It.