Gnarling Sorrow Hath Less Power To Bite

O Me, You Juggler, You Canker-blossom, You Thief Of Love!

'tis Better To Bear The Ills We Have Than Fly To Others That We Know Not Of.

There's Not The Smallest Orb Which Thou Behold'st But In His Motion Like An Angel Sings.

All Gold And Silver Rather Turn To Dirt, An 'tis No Better Reckoned But Of These Who Worship Dirty Gods.

Woah Is Me To Have Seen What I Seen See What I See