Thou Art Most Rich, Being Poor; Most

And What’s He Then That Says I Play The Villain?

Discomfort Guides My Tongue And Bids Me Speak Of Nothing But Despair.

Time Hath, My Lord, A Wallet At His Back Wherein He Puts Alms For Oblivion, A Great-sized Monster Of Ingratitudes: Those Scraps Are Good Deeds Past, Which Are Devour'd As Fast As They Are Made, Forgot As Soon As Done.

There's Nothing Situate Under Heaven's Eye But Hath His Bond In Earth, In Sea, In Sky. The Beasts, The Fishes, And The Winged Fowls Are Their Males' Subjects And At Their Controls. Man, More Divine, The Master Of All These, Lord Of The Wide World And Wild Wat'ry Seas, Indu'd With Intellectual Sense And Souls, Of More Pre-eminence Than Fish And Fowls, Are Masters To Their Females, And Their Lords; Then Let Your Will Attend On Their Accords.

My Stars Shine Darkly Over Me