Away! Thou'rt Poison To My Blood.

Wisely Weigh Our Sorrow With Our Comfort.

I Am A Kind Of Burr; I Shall Stick.

To Think But Nobly Of My Grandmother: Good Wombs Have Borne Bad Sons.

Now, Neighbor Confines, Purge You Of Your Scum! Have You A Ruffian That Will Swear, Drink, Dance, Revel The Night, Rob, Murder, And Commit The Oldest Sins The Newest Kind Of Ways?

Men Must Endure Their Going Hence, Even As Their Coming Hither. Ripeness Is All.