A Devil, a born Devil on whose nature, nurture can never stick, on whom my pain, humanly taken, all lost, quite lost...
For I can raise no money by vile means.
And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.
L. These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately: long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
To bed, to bed! There's a knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed!
O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts. Possess them not with fear.