Your Bait Of Falsehood Takes This Carp

For In The Fatness Of These Pursy Times Virtue Itself Of Vice Must Pardon Beg.

Bid The Dishonest Man Mend Himself; If He Mend, He Is No Longer Dishonest.

How Many Cowards Whose Hearts Are All As False As Stairs Of Sand, Wear Yet Upon Their Chins The Beards Of Hercules And Frowning Mars, Who Inward Searched, Have Livers White As Milk!

He Jests At Scars That Never Felt A Wound.

Enough No More; Tis Not So Sweet Now As It Was Before.