Death Hath A Thousand Doors To Let

We Have Not An Hour Of Life In Which Our Pleasures Relish Not Some Pain, Our Sours, Some Sweetness.

0 Summer Friendship, Whose Flat-tering Leaves Shadowed Us In Our Prosperity, With The Least Gust, Drop Off In The Autumn Of Adversity.

Quiet Night, That Brings Best To The Labourer, Is The Outlaw's Day, In Which He Rises Early To Do Wrong, And When His Work Is Ended Dares Not Sleep.

Death Hath A Thousand Doors To Let Out Life.

Great Men, Till They Have Gained Their Ends, Are Giants In Their Promises, But, Those Obtained, Weak Pigmies In Their Performance. And It Is A Maxim Allowed Among Them, So They May Deceive, They May Swear Anything; For The Queen Of Love, As They Hold Constantly, Does Never Punish, But Smile, At Lovers' Perjuries.