The Gloomy Shade Of Death.

Spirits Are Not Finely Touched But To Fine Issues.

I Have Been Long A Sleeper; But I Trust My Absence Doth Neglect No Great Design Which By My Presence Might Have Been Concluded.

Hope Is A Lover's Staff; Walk Hence With That And Manage It Against Despairing Thoughts.

Anger Is Like A Full Hot Horse, Who Being Allowed His Way, Self-mettle Tires Him.

You Have But Mistook Me All The While... I Live By Bread Like You, Taste Grief, Feel Want, Need Friends. Conditioned Thus How Can You Call Me King?