Thus Hath The Candle Sing'd The Moth.

There's No Trust, No Faith, No Honesty In Men; All Perjured, All Forsworn, All Naught, All Dissemblers.

Why, Headstrong Liberty Is Lashed With Woe. There's Nothing Situate Under Heaven's Eye But Hath His Bound, In Earth, In Sea, In Sky.

Take You Me For A Sponge?

With These Shreds They Vented Their Complainings, Which Being Answered And A Petition Granted Them, A Strange One, To Break The Heart Of Generosity, And Make Bold Power Look Pale, They Threw Their Caps As They Would Hang Them On The Horns O' Th' Moon, Shouting Their Emulation.

Methinks You Are My Glass, And Not My Brother: I See By You I Am A Sweet-faced Youth.