In Thy Youth Wast As True A

What A Fool Honesty Is.

Bad Is The Trade That Must Play Fool To Sorrow, Ang'ring Itself And Others.

I Would There Were No Age Between Sixteen And Three-and-twenty, Or That Youth Would Sleep Out The Rest; For There Is Nothing In The Between But Getting Wenches With Child, Wronging The Ancientry, Stealing, Fighting

But Now Behold, In The Quick Forge And Working-house Of Thought, How London Doth Pour Out Her Citizens!

Thou Whoreson Zed! Thou Unnecessary Letter!