Let Us Not Burden Our Remembrances With

I Am Such A Tender Ass, If My Hair Do But Tickle Me, I Must Scratch.

I Would Fain Die A Dry Death.

I Had Rather Be A Dog, And Bay The Moon, Than Such A Roman.

Had It Pleas'd Heaven To Try Me With Affliction * * * I Should Have Found In Some Place Of My Soul A Drop Of Patience.

Tis A Blushing Shame-faced Spirit That Mutinies In A Man's Bosom. It Fills A Man Full Of Obstacles. It Made Me Once Restore A Purse Of Gold That (by Chance) I Found. It Beggars Any Man That Keeps It.