Lay On, Mcduff, And Be Damned He

And, Looking On It With Lack-lustre Eye, Says Very Wisely, "it Is Ten O'clock: Thus We May See," Quoth He, "how The World Wags."

The Gloomy Shade Of Death.

Now See That Noble And Most Sovereign Reason, Like Sweet Bells Jangled, Out Of Tune And Harsh.

O, Thou Hast Damnable Iteration; And Art, Indeed, Able To Corrupt A Saint.

Throw Physic To The Dogs; I'll None Of It.