The Benediction Of These Covering Heavens Fall

Bid The Dishonest Man Mend Himself; If He Mend, He Is No Longer Dishonest.

As There Comes Light From Heaven And Words From Breath, As There Is Sense In Truth And Truth In Virtue

No Visor Does Become Black Villainy So Well As Soft And Tender Flattery.

I Can Counterfeit The Deep Tragedian; Speak And Look Back, And Pry On Every Side, Tremble And Start, At Wagging Of A Straw, Intending Deep Suspicion.

I Wasted Time, And Now Doth Time Waste Me; For Now Hath Time Made Me His Numbering Clock: My Thoughts Are Minutes; And With Sighs They Jar Their Watches On Unto Mine Eyes, The Outward Watch, Whereto My Finger, Like A Dial's Point, Is Pointing Still, In Cleansing Them From Tears. Now Sir, The Sound That Tells What Hour It Is Are Clamorous Goans, Which Strike Upon My Heart, Which Is The Bell: So Sighs And Tears And Groans Show Minutes, Times, And Hours.