Who Soars Too Near The Sun, With

Poor Wretches That Depend On Greatness' Favor, Dream As I Have Done; Wake, And Find Nothing.

For Mine Own Part, It Was Greek To Me.

Indeed, Sir, He That Sleeps Feels Not The Toothache; But A Man That Were To Sleep Your Sleep, And A Hangman To Help Him To Bed, I Think He Would Change Places With His Officer; For Look You, Sir, You Know Not Which Way You Shall Go.

And It Is Very Much Lamented,... That You Have No Such Mirrors As Will Turn Your Hidden Worthiness Into Your Eye That You Might See Your Shadow.

The Play's The Thing.