Winding Up Days With Toil And Nights

Your Bait Of Falsehood Takes This Carp Of Truth.

I Would With Such Perfection Govern, Sir, T'excel The Golden Age.

He Is Well Paid That Is Well Satisfied.

Cursed Be The Hand That Made These Fatal Holes.

But I Will Wear My Heart Upon My Sleeve For Daws To Peck At: I Am Not What I Am.