Thanks, Sir; All The Rest Is Mute.

For Precious Friends Hid In Death's Dateless Night.

Sweet Recreation Barred, What Doth Ensue But Moody And Dull Melancholy, Kinsman To Grim And Comfortless Despair.

Friendship Is Full Of Dregs.

O Gentle Son, Upon The Heat And Flame Of Thy Distemper, Sprinkle Cool Patience.

He That Dies This Year Is Quit For The Next.