He Is Winding The Watch Of His

These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends And In Their Triump Die, Like Fire And Powder Which, As They Kiss, Consume

Glendower: I Can Call The Spirits From The Vasty Deep. Hotspur: Why, So Can I, Or So Can Any Man; But Will They Come, When You Do Call For Them?

Wisdom Cries Out In The Streets, And No Man Regards It.

And, Looking On It With Lack-lustre Eye, Says Very Wisely, "it Is Ten O'clock: Thus We May See," Quoth He, "how The World Wags."

That We Would Do We Should Do When We Would, For This 'would' Changes, And Hath Abatements And Delays As Many As There Are Tongues, Are Hands, Are Accidents, And Then This 'should' Is Like A Spendthrift Sigh, That Hurts By Easing.