Beware Of Entrance To A

Some There Be That Shadows Kiss; Such Have But A Shadow's Bliss.

Nothing In His Life Became Him Like Leaving It.

Now Old Desire Doth In His Deathbed Lie, And Young Affection Gapes To Be His Heir; That Fair For Which Love Groan'd For And Would Die, With Tender Juliet Match'd, Is Now Not Fair.

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

Lives Like A Drunken Sailor On A Mast, Ready With Every Nod To Tumble Down Into The Fatal Bowels Of The Deep.