Ben Jonson

It will never come out of the flesh that's bred in the bone.

It will never come out of the flesh that's bred in the bone.

The burnt child dreads the fire.

The burnt child dreads the fire.

It strikes! one, two,
Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch,
Thy pulse hath beat enough. read more

It strikes! one, two,
Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch,
Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and rest;
Would thou could'st make the time to do so too;
I'll wind thee up no more.

'Tis no sin love's fruits to steal;
But the sweet thefts to reveal;
To be taken, to read more

'Tis no sin love's fruits to steal;
But the sweet thefts to reveal;
To be taken, to be seen,
These have crimes accounted been.

Where it concerns himself,
Who's angry at a slander, makes it true.

Where it concerns himself,
Who's angry at a slander, makes it true.