Sit By My Side, And Let The

Oh! It Offends Me To The Soul To Hear A Robust Periwig-pated Fellow, Tear A Passion To Tatters, To Very Rags, To Split The Ears Of The Groundlings.

Every Inordinate Cup Is Unbless'd, And The Ingredient Is A Devil.

What? Do I Love Her, That I Desire To Hear Her Speak Again, And Feast Upon Her Eyes

I Am In Blood Stepp'd In So Far, That, Should I Wade No More, Returning Were As Tedious As Go O'er.

Time's Glory Is To Command Contending Kings, To Unmask Falsehood, And Bring Truth To Light.