For some must watch, while some must sleep So runs the world away
This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.
Through tattered clothes, small vices do appear. Robes and furred gowns hide all.
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.
Sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue.
Time, whose millioned accidents creep in betwixt vows, and change decrees of kings, tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharpest intents, divert strong minds to the course of altering things.