The Daintiest Last, To Make The End

'tis Dangerous To Take A Cold, To Sleep, To Drink; But I Tell You, My Lord Fool, Out Of This Nettle, Danger, We Pluck This Flower, Safety.

Nothing 'gainst Times Scythe Can Make Defence.

Truly Thou Art Damned, Like An Ill-roasted Egg, All On One Side.

So Many Hours Must I Take My Rest; So Many Hours Must I Contemplate.

Report Me And My Cause Aright.