What A Deformed Thief This Fashion Is.

The Poorest Service Is Repaid With Thanks.

You Lack The Season Of All Natures, Sleep.

I Can See His Pride Peep Through Each Part Of Him.

Thus Did I Keep My Person Fresh And New, My Presence, Like A Robe Pontifical, Ne'er Seen But Wondered At, And So My State, Seldom But Sumptuous, Showed Like A Feast.

There Is A Devilish Mercy In The Judge, If You'll Implore It, That Will Free Your Life, But Fetter You Till Death.