For You And I Are Past Our

Care I For The Limb, The Thews, The Stature, Bulk, And Big Assemblance Of A Man! Give Me The Spirit.

Anger's My Meat. I Sup Upon Myself, And So Shall Starve With Feeding.

Nay, Do Not Think I Flatter. For What Advancement May I Hope From Thee, That No Revenue Hast But Thy Good Spirits To Feed And Clothe Thee? Why Should The Poor Be Flattered?

Oh Why Rebuke You Him That Loves You So? / Lay Breath So Bitter On Your Bitter Foe.

Chewing The Food Of Sweet And Bitter Fancy.