As I hope For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den, The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion Our worser genius can, shall never melt Mine honour into lust, to take away The edge of that day's celebration, When I shall think or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd Or Night kept chain'd below.
Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence and medicine power. For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, stays all senses with the heart. Two such oppose¨d kings encamp them still, In man as well as herbs-grace and rude will. And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. (Inside the little rind of this weak flower, there is both poison and powerful medicine. If you smell it, you feel good all over your body. But if you taste it, you die. There are two opposite elements in everything, in men as well as in herbs-good and evil. When evil is dominant, death soon kills the body like cancer.)