Piece Out Our Imperfections With Your Thoughts.

The Sands Are Number'd That Make Up My Life; Here Must I Stay, And Here My Life Must End.

O Polished Perturbation! Golden Care! That Keep'st The Ports Of Slumber Open Wide To Many A Watchful Night.

Things Done Well And With A Care, Exempt Themselves From Fear.

Young Adam Cupid, He That Shot So Trim, When King Cophetua Loved The Beggar-maid!

Tis Gold Which Buys Admittance--oft It Doth--yea, And Makes Diana's Rangers False Themselves, Yield Up This Deer To Th' Stand O' Th' Stealer: And 'tis Gold Which Makes The True Man Kill'd And Saves The Thief, Nay, Sometimes Hangs Both Thief And True Man.