Ay; Beauty's Princely Majesty Is

Methinks I Am A Prophet New Inspired And Thus, Expiring, Do Foretell Of Him: His Rash Fierce Blaze Of Riot Cannot Last, For Violent Fires Soon Burn Out Themselves; Small Show'rs Last Long, But Sudden Storms Are Short; He Tires Betimes That Spurs Too Fast Betimes; With Eager Feeding Doth Choke The Feeder; Light Vanity, Insatiate Cormorant, Consuming Means, Soon Preys Upon Itself.

There's Small Choice In Rotten Apples.

Downy Sleep, Death's Counterfeit.

The Caterpillars Of The Commonwealth, Which I Have Sworn To Weed And Pluck Away.

O, Full Of Scorpions Is My Mind!