The Past Is Prologue.

I Would Challenge You To A Battle Of Wits, But I See You Are Unarmed!

O Heaven! Were Man, But Constant, He Were Perfect.

Direct Not Him Whose Way Himself Will Choose; 'tis Breath Not Lack'st, And That Breath Wilt Thou Lose.

Yet, Do Thy Worst, Old Time; Despite Thy Wrong, My Love Shall In My Verse Ever Live Young.

And Makes Me Poor Indeed.