I Would With Such Perfection Govern, Sir,

How Slow This Old Moon Wanes! She Lingers My Desires, Like To A Stepdame, Or A Dowager, Long Withering Out A Young Man's Revenue.

The Appurtenance Of Welcome Is Fashion And Ceremony.

It Is Silliness To Live When To Live Is Torment, And Then Have We A Prescription To Die When Death Is Our Physician.

The Stroke Of Death Is As A Lover's Pinch, Which Hurts And Is Desired.

Confusion Now Hath Made His Masterpiece.