How Every Fool Can Play Upon The

He That Dies This Year Is Quit For The Next.

Fairies, Black, Grey, Green, And White, You Moonshine Revellers, And Shades Of Night, You Orphan Heirs Of Fixed Destiny, Attend Your Office And Your Quality.

I Will Kill Thee A Hundred And Fifty Ways.

O Villains, Vipers, Dogs, Easily Won To Fawn On Any Man!

They Say, The Tongues Of Dying Men Enforce Attention, Like Deep Harmony; Where Words Are Scarce, They're Seldom Spent In Vain; For They Breathe Truth, That Breathe Their Words In Pain.