The Worm Is Not To Be Trusted.

This Is The Excellent Foppery Of The World, That, When We Are Sick In Fortune,--often The Surfeit Of Our Own Behavior,--we Make Guilty Of Our Disasters The Sun, The Moon, And The Stars: As If We Were Villains By Necessity; Fools By Heavenly Compulsion; Knaves, Thieves, And Treachers, By Spherical Predominance; Drunkards, Liars, And Adulterers, By An Enforced Obedience Of Planetary Influence; And All That We Are Evil In, By A Divine Thrusting On: An Admirable Evasion Of Whoremaster Man, To Lay His Goatish Disposition To The Charge Of A Star.

Let The Sap Of Reason Quench The Fire Of Passion.

I Sat Upon A Promontory, And Heard A Mermaid, On A Dolphin's Back, Uttering Such Dulcet And Harmonious Breath, That The Rude Sea Grew Civil At Her Song; And Certain Stars Shot Madly From Their Spheres, To Hear The Sea-maid's Music.

The Liquid Drops Of Tears That You Have Shed Shall Come Again, Transform'd To Orient Pearl, Advantaging Their Loan With Interest Of Ten Times Double Gain Of Happiness.

For Though The Camomile, The More It Is Trodden On The Faster It Grows, Yet Youth, The More It Is Wasted, The Sooner It Wears.