I Must Be Gone And Live, Or

As Chaste As Is The Bud Ere It Be Blown.

Until I Know This Sure Uncertainty, I'll Entertain The Offered Fallacy.

For This, Be Sure, Tonight Thou Shalt Have Cramps, Side-stitches That Shall Pen Thy Breath Up. Urchins Shall Forth At Vast Of Night That They May Work All Exercise On Thee. Thou Shalt Be Pinched As Thick As Honeycomb, Each Pinch More Stinging Than Bees That Made 'em.

Base Is The Slave That Pays.

Though Death Be Poor, It Ends A Mortal Woe.