In A False Quarrel There Is No

Flesh And Blood, You, Brother Mine, That Entertain'd Ambition, Expell'd Remorse And Nature, Who, With Sebastian- Whose Inward Pinches Therefore Are Most Strong- Would Here Have Kill'd Your King, I Do Forgive Thee, Unnatural Though Thou Art.

Tis Now The Very Witching Time Of Night, When Churchyards Yawn And Hell Itself Breathes Out Contagion To This World.

So All My Best Is Dressing Old Words New.

For Which Of My Bad Parts Didst Thou First Fall In Love With Me?

For In The Fatness Of These Pursy Times Virtue Itself Of Vice Must Pardon Beg.