Cut Men's Throats With Whisperings.

Our Whole Life Is Like A Play.

Ambition, Like A Torrent, Ne'er Looks Back; And Is A Swelling, And The Last Affection A High Mind Can Put Off; Being Both A Rebel Unto The Soul And Reason, And Enforceth All Laws, All Conscience, Treads Upon Religion, And Offereth Violence To Nature's Self.

No Man So Wise That He May Not Easily Err If He Takes No Other Counsel Than His Own. He That Is Taught Only By Himself Has A Fool For A Master.

Doing, A Filthy Pleasure Is, And Short; And Done, We Straight Repent Us Of The Sport: Let Us Not Rush Blindly On Unto It, Like Lustful Beasts, That Only Know To Do It: For Lust Will Languish, And That Heat Decay, But Thus, Thus, Keeping Endless Holy-.

Spread Yourself Upon His Bosom Publicly, Whose Heart You Would Eat In Private.