This Tyrant, Whose Sole Name Blisters Our

I Know A Lady In Venice Would Have Walked Barefoot To Palestine For A Touch Of His Nether Lip

Let The Galled Jade Wince; Our Withers Are Unwrung.

Slander Lives Upon Succession, For Ever Housed Where It Gets Possession.

So Distribution Should Undo Excess, And Each Man Have Enough.

Lechery, Lechery; Still, Wars And Lechery: Nothing Else Holds Fashion.