This Is The Short And The Long

My Friends Were Poor, But Honest, So's My Love.

Out, You Tallow-face! You Baggage!

To Be In Anger Is Impiety, But Who Is Man That Is Not Angry?

For There Was Never Yet Philosoper That Could Endure The Toothache Patiently, However They Have Writ The Style Of Gods, And Made A Push At Chance And Sufferance.

O World, World! Thus Is The Poor Agent Despised. O Traitors And Bawds, How Earnestly Are You Set A-work, And How Ill Requited! Why Should Our Endeavor Be So Loved, And The Performance So Loathed?