He's All My Exercise, My Mirth, My

In Limited Professions There's Boundless Theft.

Let Those That Play Your Clowns Speak No More Than Is Set Down For Them.

And Oftentimes, To Win Us To Our Harm, The Instruments Of Darkness Tell Us Truths, Win Us With Honest Trifles, To Betray's In Deepest Consequence

Mine Eyes Smell Onions: I Shall Weep Anon.

How Much Salt Water Thrown Away In Waste/ To Season Love, That Of It Doth Not Taste.