Speak Of Me As I Am. Nothing

Evermore Thanks, The Exchequer Of The Poor

As Flies To Wanton Boys, Are We To The Gods; They Kill Us For Their Sport.

Is Man No More Than This? Consider Him Well. Thou Ow'st The Worm No Silk, The Beast No Hide, The Sheep No Wool, The Cat No Perfume. Here's Three On's Are Sophisticated. Thou Art The Thing Itself; Unaccommodated Man Is No More Than Such A Poor, Bare, Forked Animal As Thou Art.

Young Men's Love Then Lies Not Truly In Their Hearts, But In Their Eyes.

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