He That Will Have A Cake Out

What The Great Ones Do, The Less Will Prattle Of

Out Of My Sight! Thou Dost Infect Mine Eyes.

In A False Quarrel There Is No True Valor.

Thou Shouldst Not Have Been Old Till Thou Hadst Been Wise.

Haply For I Am Black, And Have Not Those Soft Parts Of Conversation That Chamberers Have; Or For I Am Declined Into The Vale Of Years—yet That’s Not Much— She’s Gone. I Am Abused, And My Relief Must Be To Loathe Her. O Curse Of Marriage, That We Can Call These Delicate Creatures Ours And Not Their Appetites! I Had Rather Be A Toad And Live Upon The Vapor Of A Dungeon Than Keep A Corner In The Thing I Love For Others’ Uses. Yet ’tis The Plague Of Great Ones; Prerogatived Are They Less Than The Base. ’tis Destiny Unshunnable, Like Death.