In A False Quarrel There Is No

I'll Be Supposed Upon A Book, His Face Is The Worst Thing About Him.

To Stand Against The Deep Dread-bolted Thunder, In The Most Terrible And Nimble Stroke Of Quick, Cross Lightning.

So Quick Bright Things Come To Confusion.​​​​​​

Rumour: "upon My Tongues Continual Slanders Ride, The Which In Every Language I Pronounce, Stuffing The Ears Of Men With False Reports.

Well, Every One Can Master A Grief But He That Has It.