I Have Sounded The Very Base-string Of

None Can Cure Their Harms By Wailing Them.

No Might Nor Greatness In Mortality Can Censure 'scape; Back- Wounding Calumny The Whitest Virtue Strikes. What King So Strong Can Tie The Gall Up In The Slanderous Tongue?

What's To Come Is Still Unsure: In Delay There Lies No Plenty; Then Come Kiss Me, Sweet And Twenty, Youth's A Stuff Will Not Endure.

The Web Of Our Life Is Of A Mingled Yarn, Good And Ill Together: Our Virtues Would Be Proud If Our Faults Whipped Them Not; And Our Crimes Would Despair If They Were Not Cherished By Our Own Virtues.

We Do Pray For Mercy, And That Same Prayer Doth Teach Us All To Render The Deeds Of Mercy.