The Coward's Weapon, Poison.

A Woman Friend! He That Believes That Weakness, Steers In A Stormy Night Without A Compass.

Hence, All You Vain Delights, As Short As Are The Nights Wherein You Spend Your Folly! There's Naught In This Life Sweet But Only Melancholy; O Sweetest Melancholy!

The Coward's Weapon, Poison.

Weep No More, Nor Sigh, Nor Groan, Sorrow Calls No Time That 's Gone; Violets Plucked, The Sweetest Rain Makes Not Fresh Nor Grow Again.

Of All The Forms Of Wisdom, Hindsight Is By General Consent The Least Merciful, The Most Unforgiving.