I Am That Merry Wanderer Of The

She's Good, Being Gone.

Thy Best Of Rest Is Sleep, And That Thou Oft Provok'st; Yet Grossly Fear'st Thy Death, Which Is No More.

Their Lips Were Four Red Roses On A Stalk.

Coward Dogs Most Spend Their Mouths When What They Seem To Threaten Runs Far Before Them.

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