Tis No Sin For A Man To

Time Shall Unfold What Plaited Cunning Hides: Who Cover Faults, At Last Shame Them Derides.

How Hard It Is To Hide The Sparks Of Nature!

To Go To Bed After Midnight Is To Go To Bed Betimes

Life... Is A Paradise To What We Know Of Death.

Ne'er Ask Me What Raiment I'll Wear, For I Have No More Doublets Than Backs, No More Stockings Than Legs, Nor No More Shoes Than Feet--nay, Sometime More Feet Than Shoes, Or Such Shoes As My Toes Look Through The Overleather.