Be Not Thy Tongue Thy Own Shame's

Why, Look You, I Am Whipp'd And Scourg'd With Rods, Nettled And Stung With Pismires[nettles], When I Hear Of This Vile Politician, Bolingbroke.

Crack'd In Pieces By Malignant Death.

Against Self-slaughter There Is A Prohibition So Divine That Cravens My Weak Hand.

There Is A Tide In The Affairs Of Men

Listen To Many, Speak To A Few.