Age, I Do Abhor Thee, Youth, I

Hadst Thou No Poison Mixed, No Sharp-ground Knife, No Sudden Mean Of Death, Though Ne'er So Mean, But 'banished' To Kill Me--'banished'? O Friar, The Damned Use That Word In Hell; Howling Attends It! How Hast Thou The Heart, Being A Divine, A Ghostly Confessor, A Sin-absolver, And My Friend Professed, To Mangle Me With That Word 'banished'?

This Thing Of Darkness I Acknowlege Mine. There Is Nothing More Confining Than The Prison We Don't Know We Are In.

Faults That Are Rich Are Fair.

Enjoy The Honey-heavy Dew Of Slumber.

Besides, They Are Our Outward Consciences, And Preachers To Us All, Admonishing That We Should Drew Us Fairly For Our End.