For Brutus Is An Honourable

Being Your Slave What Should I Do But Tend, Upon The Hours, And Times Of Your Desire? I Have No Precious Time At All To Spend; Nor Services To Do Till You Require.

One Fire Burns Out Another's Burning, One Pain Is Lessen'd By Another's Anguish.

There Is Thy Gold, Worse Poison To Men's Souls, Doing More Murder In This Loathsome World, Than These Poor Compounds That Thou Mayst Not Sell.

The Bay-trees In Our Country Are All Withered, And Meteors Fright The Fixèd Stars Of Heaven. The Pale-faced Moon Looks Bloody On The Earth, And Lean-looked Prophets Whisper Fearful Change. Rich Men Look Sad, And Ruffians Dance And Leap; The One In Fear To Lose What They Enjoy, The Other To Enjoy By Rage And War. These Signs Forerun The Death Or Fall Of Kings.

Life... Is A Paradise To What We Know Of Death.