Hot And Hasty, Like A

Time Shall Unfold What Plaited Cunning Hides: Who Cover Faults, At Last Shame Them Derides.

The Law Hath Not Been Dead, Though It Hath Slept.

Now My Charms Are All O'erthrown.

Conceal Me What I Am, And Be My Aid For Such Disguise As Haply Shall Become The Form Of My Intent.

Thou Detestable Maw, Thou Womb Of Death.