Small Things Make Base Men Proud.

I Am Thy Father's Spirit; Doom'd For A Certain Term To Walk The Night And, For The Day, Confin'd To Fast In Fires, Till The Foul Crimes, Done In My Days Of Nature, Are Burnt And Purg'd Away.

As For My Wife, I Would You Had Her Spirit In Such Another; The Third O' Th' World Is Yours, Which With A Snaffle You May Pace Easy, But Not Such A Wife.

We Cannot All Be Masters.

Haste Is Needful In A Desperate Case.

Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow