Me, Poor Man, My Library Was Dukedom

Away, You Cut-purse Rascal! You Filthy Bung, Away! By This Wine, I'll Thrust My Knife In Your Mouldy Chaps, An You Play The Saucy Cuttle With Me. Away, You Bottle-ale Rascal! You Basket-hilt Stale Juggler, You!

Thy Wish Was Father, Harry, To That Thought.

Dissembling Courtesy! How Fine This Tyrant Can Trickle When She Wounds!

Things Won Are Done, Joy's Soul Lies In The Doing.

I Bear A Charmed Life, Which Must Not Yield To One Of Woman Born.