And He Goes Through Life, His Mouth

Four Days Will Quickly Steep Themselves In Nights; Four Nights Will Quickly Dream Away The Time; And Then The Moon, Like To A Silver Bow New Bent In Heaven, Shall Behold The Night Of Our Solemnities.

This England Never Did, Nor Never Shall, Lie At The Proud Foot Of A Conqueror.

Beggar That I Am, I Am Even Poor In Thanks

As Flies To Wanton Boys, Are We To The Gods; They Kill Us For Their Sport.

To Sue To Live, I Find I Seek To Die; And, Seeking Death, Find Life: Let It Come On.