Something Is Rotten In The

Her Father Lov'd Me; Oft Invited Me; Still Question'd Me The Story Of My Life, From Year To Year, The Battles, Sieges, Fortunes, That I Have Pass'd.

Before The Curing Of A Strong Disease, Even In The Instant Of Repair And Health, The Fit Is Strongest. Evils That Take Leave, On Their Departure Most Of All Show Evil.

Love's Stories Written In Love's Richest Books. To Fan The Moonbeams From His Sleeping Eyes.

I That Please Some, Try All, Both Joy And Terror Of Good And Bad, That Makes And Unfolds Error.

Will Fortune Never Come With Both Hands Full, But Write Her Fair Words Still In Foulest Terms?