Anger's My Meat. I Sup Upon Myself,

O Sir, You Are Old; Nature In You Stands On The Very Verge Of Her Confine; You Should Be Ruled And Led By Some Discretion, That Discerns Your Fate Better Than You Yourself.

For In That Sleep Of Death What Dreams May Come.

The Thorny Point Of Bare Distress Hath Ta'en From Me The Show Of Smooth Civility; Yet Am I Inland Bred And Know Some Nurture.

Fortune Is Painted Blind, With A Muffler Afore Her Eyes, To Signify To You That Fortune Is Blind.

Don't Trust The Person Who Has Broken Faith Once.