Give Thy Thoughts No Tongue.

Tis Mad Idolatry To Make The Service Greater Than The God.

Awake, Awake, English Nobility! Let Not Sloth Dim Your Horrors New-begot.

When Griping Grief The Heart Doth Wound, And Doleful Dumps The Mind Opresses, Then Music, With Her Silver Sound, With Speedy Help Doth Lend Redress.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen, Lend Me Your Ears; I Come To Bury Caesar, Not To Praise Him.

Being Holiday, The Beggar's Shop Is Shut.