Short Time Seems Long In Sorrow's Sharp

This Goodly Frame, The Earth, Seems To Me A Sterile Promontory.

I Am A Man More Sinned Against Than Sinning

A Rarer Spirit Never Did Steer Humanity; But You Gods Will Give Us Some Faults To Make Us Men.

Tam: What Begg’st Thou Then? Fond Woman, Let Me Go. Lav: ’tis Present Death I Beg; And One Thing More That Womanhood Denies My Tongue To Tell. O! Keep Me From Their Worse Than Killing Lust, And Tumble Me Into Some Loathsome Pit, Where Never Man’s Eye May Behold My Body: Do This, And Be A Charitable Murderer. Tam: So Should I Rob My Sweet Sons Of Their Fee: No, Let Them Satisfy Their Lust On Thee. Dem: Away! For Thou Hast Stay’d Us Here Too Long. Lav: No Grace! No Womanhood! Ah, Beastly Creature, The Blot And Enemy To Our General Name. Confusion Fall—

All That Glitters Is Not Gold; Often Have You Heard That Told: Many A Man His Life Has Sold But My Outside To Behold: Gilded Tombs Do Worms Enfold Had You Been As Wise As Bold, Your In Limbs, In Judgment Old, Your Answer Had Not Been In'scroll'd Fare You Well: Your Suit Is Cold.' Cold, Indeed, And Labour Lost: Then, Farewell, Heat And Welcome, Frost!