How Sharper Than A Serpent's Tooth It

I Will Instruct My Sorrows To Be Proud; For Grief Is Proud, And Makes His Owner Stoop.

The Clamorous Owl That Nightly Hoots And Wonders At Our Quaint Spirits.

Fishes Live In The Sea, As Men Do A-land; The Great Ones Eat Up The Little Ones.

I Am Not Yet Of Percy's Mind, The Hotspur Of The North; He That Kills Me Some Six Or Seven Dozen Of Scots As A Breakfast, Washes His Hands, And Says To His Wife, 'fie Upon This Quiet Life! I Want Work.

This Sleep Is Sound Indeed; This Is A Sleep That From This Golden Rigol Hath Divorc'd So Many English Kings.