Away, You Mouldy Rogue, Away!

Drink Down All Unkindness.

Every Subject's Duty Is The Kings, But Every Subject's Soul Is His Own.

It Is A Sin To Be A Mocker.

But It Is A Melancholy Of Mine Own, Compounded Of Many Simples, Extracted From Many Objects, And Indeed The Sundry Contemplation Of My Travels, Which, By Often Rumination, Wraps Me In The Most Humorous Sadness.

You Peasant Swain! You Whoreson Malt-horse Drudge!