But now the scene is changed? confess'd it is.
70Must we abjure all youth, born, bury this?
Such closet death's desertless, in this glass
Read not what now I am but then I was:
In this reflection may the gravest see
How true we suit—I this, and this with me.
These thorns pick'd out whose venom might have bred
A gangrene in thy reader, struck thee dead.
Thou mayst perhaps invited be to court,
And have a brace of smiles t' approve thy sport.