Shall I Never See A Bachelor Of

My Thoughts Are Whirled Like A Potter's Wheel; I Know Not Where I Am Nor What I Do.

The Bay-trees In Our Country Are All Withered, And Meteors Fright The Fixèd Stars Of Heaven. The Pale-faced Moon Looks Bloody On The Earth, And Lean-looked Prophets Whisper Fearful Change. Rich Men Look Sad, And Ruffians Dance And Leap; The One In Fear To Lose What They Enjoy, The Other To Enjoy By Rage And War. These Signs Forerun The Death Or Fall Of Kings.

And How His Audit Stands Who Knows, Save Heaven?

Unless The Old Adage Must Be Verified, That Beggars Mounted, Run Their Horse To Death.

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