Greatest Scandal Waits On Greatest State.

A Fool's Bolt Is Soon Shot.

O, Grief Hath Changed Me Since You Saw Me Last, And Careful Hours With Time's Deformed Hand Have Written Strange Defeatures In My Face. But Tell Me Yet, Dost Thou Not Know My Voice?

Through Tattered Clothes, Small Vices Do Appear. Robes And Furred Gowns Hide All.

Henceforth, I'll Bear Affliction Till It Do Cry Out Itself, 'enough, Enough, And Die.

I Have Not Slept. Between The Acting Of A Dreadful Thing And The First Motion, All The Interim Is Like A Phantasma, Or A Hideous Dream: The Genius And The Mortal Instruments Are Then In Council; And The State Of Man, Like To A Little Kingdom, Suffers Then The Nature Of An Insurrection.