Go To You Bosom: Knock There, And

Remembrance Of Things Past.

I Have Not Slept. Between The Acting Of A Dreadful Thing And The First Motion, All The Interim Is Like A Phantasma, Or A Hideous Dream: The Genius And The Mortal Instruments Are Then In Council; And The State Of Man, Like To A Little Kingdom, Suffers Then The Nature Of An Insurrection.

Thus With A Kiss I Die

All Gold And Silver Rather Turn To Dirt, An 'tis No Better Reckoned But Of These Who Worship Dirty Gods.

Thou Art A Slave, Whom Fortune's Tender Arm With Favour Never Clasp'd; But Bred A Dog.