For secrets are edged tools, And must be kept from children and from fools.

Be slow to resolve, but quick in performance.

The scum that rises upmost, when the nation boils.

So the false spider, when her nets are spread, deep ambushed in her silent den does lie.

She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty, Grows cold even in the summer of her age.

Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.

So over violent, or over civil that every man with him was God or Devil.