Weed Your Better Judgments Of All Opinion

A Little Fire Is Quickly Trodden Out, Which, Being Suffer'd, Rivers Cannot Quench.

How Low Am I, Thou Painted Maypole?

The Villany You Teach Me I Shall Execute; And It Shall Go Hard But I Will Better The Instruction.

The Cunning Livery Of Hell.

Thou Art Thy Mother's Glass, And She In Thee Calls Back The Lovely April Of Her Prime...