Come My Spade. There Is No Ancient

Men At Some Time Are Masters Of Their Fates.

This Rudeness Is A Sauce To His Good Wit, Which Gives Men Stomach To Digest His Words With Better Appetite.

Virtue And Genuine Graces In Themselves Speak What No Words Can Utter.

Tis Not The Many Oaths That Make The Truth; But The Plain Single Vow, That Is Vow'd True.

...and Then, In Dreaming, / The Clouds Methought Would Open And Show Riches / Ready To Drop Upon Me, That When I Waked / I Cried To Dream Again.