Memory, The Warder Of The Brain.

Look, The World's Comforter, With Weary Gait, His Day's Hot Task Hath Ended In The West: The Owl, Night's Herald, Shrieks-'tis Very Late; The Sheep Are Gone To Fold, Birds To Their Nest; And Coal-black Clouds, That Shadow Heaven's Light, Do Summon Us To Part, And Bid Good Night.

Abandon All Remorse; On Horror's Head Horrors Accumulate.

This Man, Lady, Hath Robb'd Many Beasts Of Their Particular Additions: He Is As Valiant As A Lion, Churlish As The Bear, Slow As The Elephant-a Man Into Whom Nature Hath So Crowded Humours That His Valour Is Crush'd Into Folly, His Folly Sauced With Discretion.

The Hand That Hath Made You Fair Hath Made You Good. Pity Is The Virtue Of The Law, And None But Tyrants Use It Cruelly.

I Thank God I Am Not A Woman, To Be Touched In So Many Giddy Offences As He Hath Generally Taxed Their Whole Their Whole Sex Withal.