Nothing In His Life Became Him Like

You Have But Mistook Me All The While... I Live By Bread Like You, Taste Grief, Feel Want, Need Friends. Conditioned Thus How Can You Call Me King?

My Chastity's The Jewel Of Our House, Bequeathed Down From Many Ancestors.

Let Us Sit And Mock The Good Housewife Fortune From Her Wheel, That Her Gifts May Henceforth Be Bestowed Equally, I Would We Could Do So For Her Benefits Are Mightily Misplaced And The Bountiful Blind Girl Doth Most Mistake In Her Gifts To Women. 'tis True For Those That She Makes Fair She Scarce Makes Honest And Those That She Makes Honest She Makes Very Ill-favouredly. Nay, Now Thou Goest From Fortunes Office To Natures. Fortune Reigns In Gifts Of The World, Not In The Lineaments Of Nature.

And Nothing Can We Call Our Own But Death And That Small Model Of The Barren Earth Which Serves As Paste And Cover To Our Bones. For God's Sake, Let Us Sit Upon The Ground And Tell Sad Stories Of The Death Of Kings.

Confusion Now Hath Made His Masterpiece.