Fair Is Foul, And Foul Is Fair,

And Nothing Is, But What Is Not.

So Weary With Disasters, Tugg'd With Fortune, That I Would Set My Life On Any Chance, To Mend, Or Be Rid On't.

Who Knows Himself A Braggart, Let Him Fear This; For It Will Come To Pass That Every Braggart Will Be Found An Ass.

It Is Thyself, Mine Own Self's Better Part; Mine Eye's Clear Eye, My Dear Heart's Dearer Heart; My Food, My Fortune, And My Sweet Hope's Aim, My Sole Earth's Heaven, And My Heaven's Claim.

There Is Little Choice In A Barrel Of Rotten Apples.