He Must Have A Long Spoon That

Cut Is The Branch That Might Have Grown Full Straight, And Burned Is Apollo's Laurel Bough, That Sometime Grew Within This Learned Man. Faustus Is Gone.

He That Loves Pleasure Must For Pleasure Fall.

You Stars That Reigned At My Nativity, Whose Influence Hath Allotted Death And Hell.

Hell Hath No Limits, Nor Is Circumscribed In One Self Place, For Where We Are Is Hell, And Where Hell Is There Must We Ever Be.

Time Doth Run With Calm And Silent Foot, Shortening My Days And Thread Of Vital Life.