Now, Good Digestion Wait On Appetite, And

Love Is Merely A Madness.

Guiltiness Will Speak, Though Tongues Were Out Of Use

Let's Talk Of Graves, Of Worms, And Epitaphs; Make Dust Our Paper, And With Rainy Eyes Write Sorrow On The Bosom Of The Earth.... [w]hat Can We Bequeath, Save Our Deposed Bodies To The Ground?... [n]othing Can We Call Our Own, But Death... [l]et Us Sit Upon The Ground, And Tell Sad Stories Of The Death Of Kings: - How Some Have Been Depos'd, Some Slain In War; Some Haunted By The Ghosts They Have Depos'd.

I Have Sounded The Very Base-string Of Humility.

Pleasure And Revenge Have Ears More Deaf Than Adders To The Voice Of Any True Decision.