Then Be Not Coy, But Use Your

Hell Is No Other But A Soundlesse Pit, Where No One Beame Of Comfort Peeps In It.

Outdid The Meat, Outdid The Frolic Wine.

In Vain Our Labours Are, Whatsoe'er They Be, Unless God Gives The Benediction.

The First Act's Doubtful, But We Say, It Is The Last Commends The Play.

Her Eyes The Glowworm Lend Thee, The Shooting Stars Attend Thee; And The Elves Also, Whose Little Eyes Glow Like The Sparks Of Fire, Befriend Thee.