The Man That Is Once Hated, Both

Doing, A Filthy Pleasure Is, And Short; And Done, We Straight Repent Us Of The Sport: Let Us Not Rush Blindly On Unto It, Like Lustful Beasts, That Only Know To Do It: For Lust Will Languish, And That Heat Decay, But Thus, Thus, Keeping Endless Holy-.

Words Borrowed Of Antiquity Do Lend A Kind Of Majesty To Style, And Are Not Without Their Delight Sometimes. For They Have The Authority Of Years, And Out Of Their Intermission Do Win To Themselves A Kind Of Grace-like Newness. But The Eldest Of The Present, And Newest Of The Past Language, Is The Best.

Now We Are All Fallen, Youth From Their Fear, And Age From That Which Bred It, Good Example.

No Simple Word That Shall Be Uttered At Our Mirthful Board, Shall Make Us Sad Next Morning; Or Affright The Liberty That We'll Enjoy To-night.

It Is Virtue That Gives Glory; That Will Endenizen A Man Everywhere.