If It Were Done When 'tis Done,

I Do I Know Not What, And Fear To Find Mine Eye Too Great A Flatterer For My Mind. Fate, Show Thy Force. Ourselves We Do Not Owe. What Is Decreed Must Be; And Be This So.

Past And To Come, Seems Best; Things Present, Worse.

The Poor World Is Almost Six Thousand Years Old, And In All This Time There Was Not Any Man Died In His Own Person, Videlicet, In A Love-cause.

Still Constant Is A Wondrous Excellence.

Every Man Has Business And Desire, Such As It Is.