O Death, Made Proud With Pure And

There Is No Vice So Simple But Assumes Some Mark Of Virtue On His Outward Parts.

And It Is Very Much Lamented,... That You Have No Such Mirrors As Will Turn Your Hidden Worthiness Into Your Eye That You Might See Your Shadow.

Be Not Afeard; The Isle Is Full Of Noises, Sounds, And Sweet Airs, That Give Delight And Hurt Not. Sometimes A Thousand Twangling Instruments Will Hum About Mine Ears; And Sometime Voices, That, If I Then Had Waked After Long Sleep, Will Make Me Sleep Again: And Then, In Dreaming, The Clouds Methought Would Open, And Show Riches Ready To Drop Upon Me; That, When I Waked, I Cried To Dream Again.

Time Travels In Divers Paces With Divers Persons. I'll Tell You Who Time Ambles Withal, Who Time Trots Withal, Who Time Gallops Withal, And Who He Stands Still Withal.

How Much An Ill Word May Empoison Liking!