Manhood Is Melted Into Courtesies, Valor Into

To Climb Steep Hills Requires A Slow Pace At First.

A Devil, A Born Devil On Whose Nature, Nurture Can Never Stick, On Whom My Pain, Humanly Taken, All Lost, Quite Lost.

Should All Despair That Have Revolted Wives, The Tenth Of Mankind Would Hang Themselves.

Therefore Was I Created With A Stubborn Outside, With An Aspect Of Iron, That When I Come To Woo Ladies, I Fright Them. But, In Faith, Kate, The Elder I Wax, The Better I Shall Appear. My Comfort Is That Old Age, That Ill Layer-up Of Beauty, Can Do No More Spoil Upon My Face. Thou Hast Me, If Thou Hast Me, At The Worst, And Thou Shalt Wear Me, If Thou Wear Me, Better And Better.

O Momentary Grace Of Mortal Men, Which We More Hunt For Than The Grace Of God!