Mercy Is Not Itself, That Oft Looks

'sblood, You Starveling, You Elf-skin, You Dried Neat's Tongue, You Bull's Pizzle, You Stock-fish! O For Breath To Utter What Is Like Thee! You Tailor's-yard, You Sheath, You Bowcase; You Vile Standing-tuck!

Mirth Cannot Move A Soul In Agony.

This Fell Sergeant, Death, Is Strict In His Arrest.

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

Preposterous Ass, That Never Read So Far To Know The Cause Why Music Was Ordain'd! Was It Not To Refresh The Mind Of Man, After His Studies Or His Usual Pain?