What Is Done Cannot Be Now Amended.

Alas, How Love Can Trifle With Itself!

For Youth No Less Becomes The Light And Careless Livery That It Wears, Than Settled Age His Sables, And His Weeds Importing Health And Graveness.

Nay, Do Not Think I Flatter. For What Advancement May I Hope From Thee, That No Revenue Hast But Thy Good Spirits To Feed And Clothe Thee? Why Should The Poor Be Flattered?

They Say Miracles Are Past.

Foul Whisp'rings Are Abroad.