Unhappy That I Am, I Cannot Heave

He That Is Giddy Thinks The World Turns Round.

I Have Ventured, Like Little Wanton Boys That Swim On Bladders, This Many Summers In A Sea Of Glory, But Far Beyond My Depth. My High-blown Pride At Length Broke Under Me, And Now Has Left Me, Weary And Old With Service, To The Mercy Of A Rude Stream That Must For Ever Hide Me.

I Am Not In The Roll Of Common Men.

I Am A Subject, And I Challenge Law. Attorneys Are Denied Me, And Therefore Personally I Lay My Claim To My Inheritance Of Free Descent.

Too Much Of Water Hast Thou, Poor Ophelia, And Therefore I Forbid My Tears: But Yet It Is Our Trick; Nature Her Custom Holds, Let Shame Say What It Will: When These Are Gone, The Woman Will Be Out. — Adieu, My Lord! I Have A Speech Of Fire, That Fain Would Blaze, But That This Folly Drowns It.