The Day Shall Not Be Up So

My Father Compounded With My Mother Under The Dragon's Tail, And My Nativity Was Under Ursa Major, So That It Follows, I Am Roughand Lecherous. Tut, I Should Have Been That I Am, Had The Maidenliest Star In The Firmament Twinkled On My Bastardizing.

Look What Thy Soul Holds Dear, Imagine It To Lie That Way Thou Goest, Not Whence Thou Com'st. Suppose The Singing Birds Musicians, The Grass Whereon Thou Tread'st The Presence Strewed, The Flowers Fair Ladies, And Thy Steps No More Than A Delight Measure Or A Dance; For Gnarling Sorrow Hath Less Power To Bite The Man That Mocks At It And Sets It Light.

Where Hateful Death Put On His Ugliest Mask.

I Am Now Of All Humors That Have Showed Themselves Humors Since The Old Days Of Goodman Adam To The Pupil Age Of This Present Twelve O'clock At Midnight.

Moderate Lamentation Is The Right Of The Dead, Excessive Grief The Enemy To The Living.