Nature Hath Framed Strange Fellows In Her

There's Villainous News Abroad.

How Many Things By Season Seasoned Are To Their Right Praise And True Perfection!

O Faithless Coward! O Dishonest Wretch! Wilt Thou Be Made A Man Out Of My Vice?

Confess Yourself To Heaven, Repent What's Past, Avoid What Is To Come, And Do Not Spread The Compost On The Weeds To Make Them Ranker.

Tis In Ourselves That We Are Thus, Or Thus.