O Me, You Juggler, You Canker-blossom, You

Discuss Unto Me: Art Thou Officer, Or Art Thou Base, Common, And Popular?

I Know A Lady In Venice Would Have Walked Barefoot To Palestine For A Touch Of His Nether Lip

The Caterpillars Of The Commonwealth, Which I Have Sworn To Weed And Pluck Away.

There's Not A Shirt And A Half In All My Company, And The Half Shirt Is Two Napkins Tacked Together And Thrown Over The Shoulders Like A Herald's Coat Without Sleeves.

It Was Always Yet The Trick Of Our English Nation, If They Have A Good Thing, To Make It Too Common.