I Fill Up A Place, Which May

The Poet's Eye, In A Fine Frenzy Rolling, Doth Glance From Heaven To Earth, From Earth To Heaven.

Doubt Is A Thief That Often Makes Us Fear To Tread Where We Might Have Won.

The Gaudy, Blabbing, And Remorseful Day Is Crept Into The Bosom Of The Sea.

And Oftentimes Excusing Of A Fault Doth Make The Fault The Worse By The Excuse, As Patches Set Upon A Little Breach, Discredit More In Hiding Of The Fault Than Did The Fault Before It Was So Patch'd.

Better Three Hours Too Soon Than A Minute Too Late.