Use Every Man After His Desert, And

And All This Day An Unaccustomed Spirit Lifts Me Above The Ground With Cheerful Thoughts.

He's A Soldier; And For One To Say A Soldier Lies, Is Stabbing.

All His Successors Gone Before Him Have Done 't; And All His Ancestors That Come After Him May.

He Makes A July's Day Short As December.

We Make Ourselves Fools To Disport Ourselves And Spend Our Flatteries To Drink Those Men Upon Whose Age We Void It Up Again With Poisonous Spite And Envy.