I Am That Merry Wanderer Of The

A Wicked Conscience Mouldeth Goblins Swift As Frenzy Thoughts.

After Your Death You Were Better Have A Bad Epitaph Than Their Ill Report While You Live.

I Cannot Draw A Cart, Nor Eat Dried Oats; If It Be Man's Work, I'll Do't.

Scarce Can I Speak, My Choler Is So Great. Oh! I Could Hew Up Rocks, And Fight With Flint.

What Is Past Is Prologue.