Teach Not Thy Lip Such Scorn, For

Henceforth, I'll Bear Affliction Till It Do Cry Out Itself, 'enough, Enough, And Die.

Many A True Word Hath Been Spoken In Jest.

In A False Quarrel There Is No True Valor.

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

Treason And Murder Ever Kept Together, As Two Yoke-devils Sworn To Either's Purpose, Working So Grossly In A Natural Cause That Admiration Did Not Whoop At Them; But Thou, 'gainst All Proportion, Didst Bring In Wonder To Wait On Treason And On Murder; And Whatsoever Cunning Fiend It Was That Wrought Upon Thee So Preposterously Hath Got The Voice In Hell For Excellence.