of charge, Of dear import, and the neglecting it May do much danger. Friar John, Was stay’d by accident; and yesternight Return’d my letter back. Then all alone At the prefixed hour of her death. And in her circled orb, Lest that thy bent of love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play’d for a month, a week, Or, if