The Breaking Of So Great

The Teeming Autumn Big With Rich Increase, Bearing The Wanton Burden Of The Prime Like Widowed Wombs After Their Lords Decease.

For Now They Kill Me With A Living Death.

And Be These Juggling Friends No More Believ'd, That Palter With Us In A Double Sense; That Keep The Word Of Promise To Our Ear And Break It To Our Hope.

Time Hath Not Yet So Dried This Blood Of Mine, Nor Age So Eat Up My Invention, Nor Fortune Made Such Havoc Of My Means, Nor My Bad Life Reft Me So Much Of Friends, But They Shall Find Awaked In Such A Kind Both Strength Of Limb And Policy Of Mind, Ability In Means, And Choice Of Friends, To Quit Me Of Them Throughly.

Hell Is Empty And All The Devils Are Here.