Who Riseth From A Feast

The Private Wound Is Deepest. O Time Most Accurst, 'mongst All Foes That A Friend Should Be The Worst!

For Sweetest Things Turn Sourest By Their Deeds; Lillies That Fester Smell Far Worse Than Weeds.

Angels And Ministers Of Grace Defend Us! Be Thou A Spirit Of Health, Or Goblin Damn'd, Bring With Thee Airs From Heaven, Or Blasts From Hell, Be Thy Intents Wicked, Or Charitable, Thou Com'st In Such A Questionable Shape, That I Will Speak To Thee.

Love's Heralds Should Be Thoughts, Which Ten Times Faster Glide Than The Sun's Beams Driving Back Shadows Over Low'ring Hills. Therefore Do Nimble-pinioned Doves Draw Love, And Therefore Hath The Wind-swift Cupid Wings.

Help, Master, Help! Here's A Fish Hangs In The Net, Like A Poor Man's Right In The Law; 'twill Hardly Come Out.