Thou Hast The Most Unsavoury Similes.

To Go To Bed After Midnight Is To Go To Bed Betimes

Bell, Book And Candle Shall Not Drive Me Back, When Gold And Silver Becks Me To Come On.

There Is Thy Gold, Worse Poison To Men's Souls, Doing More Murder In This Loathsome World, Than These Poor Compounds That Thou Mayst Not Sell.

What Ugly Sights Of Death Within Mine Eyes!

The Tongues Of Mocking Wenches Are As Keen As Is The Razor's Edge Invisible.