For trust not him that hath once broken faith

To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.

And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead. Go to thy deathbed. He never will come again.

Is this the generation of love? Hot blood, hot thoughts and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers?

Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile; Filths savour but themselves.

The band that seems to tie their friendship together will be the very strangler of their amity.

For now they kill me with a living death.