Where It Concerns Himself, Who's Angry At

Of All Wild Beasts Preserve Me From A Tyrant; And Of All Tame A Flatterer.

Fortune, That Favors Fools.

Soul Of The Age! The Applause, Delight, The Wonder Of Our Stage! My Shakespeare , Rise; I Will Not Lodge Thee By Chaucer Or Spenser , Or Bid Beaumont Lie A Little Further, To Make Thee A Room; Thou Art A Monument, Without A Tomb, And Art Alive Still, While Thy Book Doth Live, And We Have Wits To Read , And Praise To Give .

Whom The Disease Of Talking Still Once Posses-seth, He Can Never Hold His Peace.

Forbear, You Things That Stand Upon The Pinnacles Of State, To Boast Your Slippery Height! When You Do Fall, You Dash Yourselves In Pieces, Ne'er To Rise: And He That Lends You Pity, Is Not Wise.