Have Hung My Dank And

United Thoughts And Counsels, Equal Hope And Hazard In The Glorious Enterprise.

Immediate Are The Acts Of God, More Swift Than Time Or Motion.

How Soon Hath Time, The Subtle Thief Of Youth, Stolen On His Wing My Three-and-twentieth Year!

His Sleep Was Aery Light, From Pure Digestion Bred.

Let None Admire That Riches Grow In Hell; That Soil May Best Deserve The Precious Bane.