Suspicion Shall Be All Stuck Full Of

Spirits Are Not Finely Touched But To Fine Issues, Nor Nature Never Lends The Smallest Scruple Of Her Excellence But Like A Thrifty Goddess She Determines Herself The Glory Of A Creditor,both Thanks And Use.

May Never Glorious Sun Reflex His Beams Upon The Country Where You Make Abode! But Darkness And The Gloomy Shade Of Death Environ You Till Mischief And Despair Drive You To Break Your Necks Or Hang Yourselves.

He Is White-livered And Red-faced.

Hang There Like Fruit, My Soul, Till The Tree Die!

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