Some Are Born Great, Some Achieve Greatness,

I Cannot Do It Without Comp[u]ters.

Assume A Virtue, If You Have It Not. That Monster, Custom, Who All Sense Doth Eat; Of Habits Devil, Is Angel Yet In This.

Mercy But Murders, Pardoning Those That Kill.

To Say The Truth, So Judas Kissed His Master And Cried, 'all Hail!' When As He Meant All Harm.

Though Death Be Poor, It Ends A Mortal Woe.