O Wretched State! O Bosom Black As

Be Advised; Heat Not A Furnace For Your Foe So Hot That It Do Singe Yourself: We May Outrun, By Violent Swiftness, That Which We Run At, And Lose By Over-running. Know You Not, The Fire That Mounts The Liquor Til Run O'er, In Seeming To Augment It Wastes It?

He Hath Borne Himself Beyond The Promise Of His Age, Doing, In The Figure Of A Lamb, The Feats Of A Lion.

Tis Not The Many Oaths That Make The Truth; But The Plain Single Vow, That Is Vow'd True.

Drown Thyself? Drown Cats And Blind Puppies.

Hadst Thou No Poison Mixed, No Sharp-ground Knife, No Sudden Mean Of Death, Though Ne'er So Mean, But 'banished' To Kill Me--'banished'? O Friar, The Damned Use That Word In Hell; Howling Attends It! How Hast Thou The Heart, Being A Divine, A Ghostly Confessor, A Sin-absolver, And My Friend Professed, To Mangle Me With That Word 'banished'?