Thou Art The Best O' The Cut-throats

Assume A Virtue, If You Have It Not. That Monster, Custom, Who All Sense Doth Eat; Of Habits Devil, Is Angel Yet In This.

O England! Model To Thy Inward Greatness, Like Little Body With A Might Heart.

A Good Old Man, Sir. He Will Be Talking. As They Say, When The Age Is In, The Wit Is Out.

Comets Importing Change Of Times And States, Brandish Your Crystal Tresses In The Sky And With Them Scourge The Bad Revolting Stars.

I Have Nothing Of Woman In Me; Now From Head To Foot I Am Marble-constant.