I Will Praise Any Man That Will

I Cannot Speak Your England.

Thrust Your Head Into The Public Street, To Gaze On Christian Fools With Varnish'd Faces.

The Deep Of Night Is Crept Upon Our Talk, And Nature Must Obey Necessity.

Like A Barber's Chair That Fits All Buttocks.

Nature Does Require Her Time Of Preservation, Which Perforce, I Her Frail Son Amongst My Brethren Mortal, Must Give My Attendance To.