I Am Not In The Giving Vein

For In My Youth I Never Did Apply Hot And Rebellious Liquors In My Blood.

Why, I Can Smile And Murder Whiles I Smile, And Cry 'content' To That Which Grieves My Heart, And Wet My Cheeks With Artificial Tears, And Frame My Face For All Occasions

There's Some Ill Planet Reigns: I Must Be Patient Till The Heavens Look With An Aspect More Favourable.

Dissembling Harlot, Thou Art False In All!

I Am Thy Father's Spirit; Doom'd For A Certain Term To Walk The Night And, For The Day, Confin'd To Fast In Fires, Till The Foul Crimes, Done In My Days Of Nature, Are Burnt And Purg'd Away.