One Man In His Time Plays Many

The Big Round Tears Cours'd One Another Down His Innocent Nose, In Piteous Chase.

An Old Man, Broken With The Storms Of State, Is Come To Lay His Weary Bones Among Ye; Give Him A Little Earth For Charity!

Let Us Be Diana's Foresters, Gentlemen Of The Shade, Minions Of The Moon

O The World Is But A Word; Were It All Yours To Give It In A Breath, How Quickly Were It Gone!

As I Hope For Quiet Days, Fair Issue, And Long Life, With Such Love As 'tis Now, The Murkiest Den, The Most Opportune Place, The Strong'st Suggestion Our Worser Genius Can, Shall Never Melt Mine Honour Into Lust, To Take Away The Edge Of That Day's Celebration, When I Shall Think Or Phoebus' Steeds Are Founder'd Or Night Kept Chain'd Below.