Make Not Your Thoughts Your Prisons.

I Had As Lief Have Been Myself Alone.

I Am Joined With No Foot Land-rakers, No Long-staff, Sixpenny Strikers, None Of These Mad, Mustachio Purple-hued Maltworms, But With Nobility And Tranquillity.

My Endeavors Have Ever Come Too Short Of My Desires. Yet Filed With My Abilities.

What's Done Cannot Be Undone. To Bed, To Bed, To Bed.

I Had Rather Be A Kitten, And Cry Mew, Than One Of These Same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I Had Rather Heare A Brazen Candlestick Turn'd, Or A Dry Wheele Grate On The Axle-tree, And That Would Set My Teeth Nothing An Edge, Nothing So Much, As Mincing Poetrie.