Be Patient, For The World Is Broad

I Can Counterfeit The Deep Tragedian; Speak And Look Back, And Pry On Every Side, Tremble And Start, At Wagging Of A Straw, Intending Deep Suspicion.

There Is Throats To Be Cut, And Works To Be Done.

For Conspiracy, I Know Not How It Tastes, Though It Be Dished For Me To Try How.

Tis Now The Very Witching Time Of Night, When Churchyards Yawn And Hell Itself Breathes Out Contagion To This World.

Come, And Take Choice Of All My Library, And So Beguile Thy Sorrow.