Death, As The Psalmist Saith, Is Certain

Art Thou Afeard To Be The Same In Thine Own Act And Valour As Thou Art In Desire? Wouldst Thou Have That Which Thou Esteem'st The Ornament Of Life, And Live A Coward In Thine Own Esteem, Letting 'i Dare Not' Wait Upon 'i Would,' Like The Poor Cat I' The Adage?

There Is A River In Macedon, And There Is Moreover A River In Monmouth. It Is Called Wye At Monmouth, But It Is Out Of My Prains What Is The Name Of The Other River; But 'tis All One, 'tis Alike As My Fingers Is To My Fingers, And There Is Salmons In Both.

Tis Beauty Truly Blent, Whose Red And White Nature's Own Sweet And Cunning Hand Laid On.

I Am Such A Tender Ass, If My Hair Do But Tickle Me, I Must Scratch.

Wisely, I Say, I Am A Bachelor.