Time Doth Transfix The Flourish Set On

O, Pardon Me, Thou Bleeding Piece Of Earth, / That I Am Meek And Gentle With These Butchers!

When I Have Plucked The Rose, I Cannot Give It Vital Growth Again, It Needs Must Wither. I'll Smell It On The Tree.

Thus Have I, Wall, My Part Discharged So; And, Being Done, Thus Wall Away Doth Go.

And A Man's Life's No More Than To Say "one."

O! Let Me Not Be Mad, Not Mad, Sweet Heaven; Keep Me In Temper; I Would Not Be Mad!