Hang Those That Talk Of

Present Mirth Hath Present Laughter. What's To Come Is Still Unsure.

Whose Heart The Accustom'd Sight Of Death Makes Hard.

That Skull Had A Tongue In It, And Could Sing Once: How The Knave Jowls It To The Ground, As If It Were Cain's Jaw-bone, That Did The First Murder! It Might Be The Pate Of A Politician, Which This Ass Now O'er-reaches; One That Would Circumvent God, Might It Not?

Villains, Vipers, Damn'd Without Redemption; Dogs, Easily Won To Fawn On Any Man; Snakes In My Heart-blood Warm'd, That Sing My Heart; Three Judases, Each One Thrice Worse Than Judas.

Sit By My Side, And Let The World Slip: We Shall Ne'er Be Younger.