A Rotten Case Abides No Handling.

A Hundred Thousand Welcomes: I Could Weep, And I Could Laugh; I Am Light And Heavy: Welcome.

I Can Call Spirits From The Vasty Deep.

When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought I Summon Up Remembrance Of Things Past, I Sigh The Lack Of Many A Thing I Sought.

Because It Is A Customary Cross, As Die To Love As Thoughts, And Dreams, And Sighs, Wishes, And Tears, Poor Fancy's Followers.

I Have Trod A Measure, I Have Flattered A Lady, I Have Been Politic With My Friend, Smooth With Mine Enemy.