Presume Not That I Am The Thing

Some Smack Of Age In You, Some Relish Of The Saltness Of Time.

The Man That Hath No Music In Himself

The Bitter Clamor Of Two Eager Tongues.

Heaven Take My Soul, And England Keep My Bones!

And Be These Juggling Friends No More Believ'd, That Palter With Us In A Double Sense; That Keep The Word Of Promise To Our Ear And Break It To Our Hope.