The art of our necessities is strange
That can make vile things precious.

Omission to do what is necessary Seals a commission to a blank of danger; And danger, like an ague, subtly taints Even then when we sit idly in the sun.

The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious.

No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To wage against the emnity o' th' air, To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, Necessity's sharp pinch.

Now we sit close about this taper here And call in question our necessities.

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.