In Brief, Sir, Study What You Most

You Told A Lie, An Odious Damned Lie; Upon My Soul, A Lie, A Wicked Lie.

Make Passionate My Sense Of Hearing.

The Language I Have Learnt These Forty Years, My Native English, Now I Must Forgo; And Now My Tongue's Use Is To Me No More Than An Unstringed Viol Or A Harp, Or Like A Cunning Instrument Cased Up Or, Being Open, Put Into His Hands That Knows No Touch To Tune The Harmony.

I Will Through And Through Cleanse The Foul Body Of Th' Infected World, If They Will Patiently Receive My Medicine.

Your Tale, Sir, Would Cure Deafness.