If I shall be condemned Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 'Tis rigor and not law.
Your praises will become your wages.
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The let-alone lies not in your good will.
So quick bright things come to confusion.
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face.