Great Honours Are Great Burdens,

Vice Is Like A Fury To The Vicious Mind, And Turns Delight Itself To Punishment.

Nor For My Peace Will I Go Far, As Wanderers Do, That Still Do Roam, But Make My Strengths, Such As They Are, Here In My Bosom, And At Home.

Your Highest Female Grace Is Silence.

Still May Syllables Jar With Time, Still May Reason War With Rhyme, Resting Never!

It Strikes! One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six. Enough, Enough, Dear Watch, Thy Pulse Hath Beat Enough. Now Sleep And Rest; Would Thou Could'st Make The Time To Do So Too; I'll Wind Thee Up No More.