Ah Me, How Weak A Thing The

Divers Philosophers Hold That The Lips Is Parcel Of The Mouth.

I Have More Care To Stay Than Will To Go.

Now No Way Can I Stray; Save Back To England, All The World's My Way.

Why, Friends, You Go To Do You Know Not What: Wherein Hath Caesar Thus Deserved Your Loves? Alas, You Know Not: I Must Tell You Then: You Have Forgot The Will I Told You Of. . . . . Here Is The Will, And Under Caesar's Seal. To Every Roman Citizen He Gives, To Every Several Man, Seventy-five Drachmas. . . . . Moreover, He Hath Left You All His Walks, His Private Arbours And New-planted Orchards, On This Side Tiber; He Hath Left Them You, And To Your Heirs For Ever, Common Pleasures, To Walk Abroad, And Recreate Yourselves. Here Was A Caesar! When Comes Such Another?

To Show An Unfelt Sorrow Is An Office Which The False Man Does Easy.