Thy Friendship Makes Us Fresh.

I Cannot Speak Your England.

Now Let It Work. Mischief, Thou Art Afoot. Take Thou What Course Thou Wilt.

Sir, In My Heart There Was A Kind Of Fighting That Would Not Let Me Sleep.

In Scorn Of Nature, Art Gave Lifeless Life.

Hast Any Philosophy In Thee Shepherd? .• • • • . . . He That Wants Money, Means And Content, Is Without Three Good Friends; That The Property Of Rain Is To Wet And Fire To Burn; That Good Pasture Makes Fat Sheep, And A Great Cause Of The Night Is Lack Of The Sun; That He That Hath Learned No Wit By Nature Nor Art May Complain Of Good Breeding Or Comes Of A Very Dull Kindred.