Even Through The Hollow Eyes Of Death

Who Has A Book Of All That Monarchs Do, He's More Secure To Keep It Shut Than Shown; For Vice Repeated Is Like The Wand'ring Wind, Blows Dust In Others' Eye, To Spread Itself; And Yet The End Of All Is Bought Thus Dear, The Breath Is Gone, And The Sore Eyes See Clear To Stop The Air Would Hurt Them.

Time Hath Not Yet So Dried This Blood Of Mine, Nor Age So Eat Up My Invention, Nor Fortune Made Such Havoc Of My Means, Nor My Bad Life Reft Me So Much Of Friends, But They Shall Find Awaked In Such A Kind Both Strength Of Limb And Policy Of Mind, Ability In Means, And Choice Of Friends, To Quit Me Of Them Throughly.

Thou Canst Not Speak Of What Thou Dost Not Feel.

My Father Compounded With My Mother Under The Dragon's Tail, And My Nativity Was Under Ursa Major, So That It Follows, I Am Roughand Lecherous. Tut, I Should Have Been That I Am, Had The Maidenliest Star In The Firmament Twinkled On My Bastardizing.

What Is The City But The People?