The Amity That Wisdom Knits Not, Folly

What Can Be Happier Than For A Man, Conscious Of Virtuous Acts, And Content With Liberty, To Despise All Human Affairs?

By Being Seldom Seen, I Could Not Stir But Like A Comet I Was Wondered At.

What's To Come Is Still Unsure: In Delay There Lies No Plenty; Then Come Kiss Me, Sweet And Twenty, Youth's A Stuff Will Not Endure.

But That The Dread Of Something After Death, The Undiscover'd Country From Whose Bourn No Traveller Returns, Puzzles The Will And Makes Us Rather Bear Those Ills We Have Than Fly To Others That We Know Not Of?

I Am Not Of That Feather, To Shake Off My Friend When He Must Need Me