I Have Sounded The Very Base-string Of

O That A Lady, Of One Man Refused, Should Of Another Therefore Be Abused!

The Crown O' The Earth Doth Melt. My Lord! O, Wither'd Is The Garland Of The War, The Soldier's Pole Is Fall'n: Young Boys And Girls Are Level Now With Men; The Odds Is Gone, And There Is Nothing Left Remarkable Beneath The Visiting Moon.

O, She Misused Me Past The Endurance Of A Block.

If Circumstances Lead Me, I Will Find Where Truth Is Hid, Though It Were Hid Indeed Within The Centre.

Some Report A Sea-maid Spawn'd Him; Some That He Was Begot Between Two Stock-fishes. But It Is Certain That When He Makes Water His Urine Is Congealed Ice.