Hang Him, Swaggering Rascal!

Give Me Mine Angle, We'll To Th' River: There, My Music Playing Far Off, I Will Betray Tawny-finned Fishes. My Bended Hook Shall Pierce Their Slimy Jaws; And As I Draw Them Up, I'll Think Them Every One An Antony, And Say, 'ah, Ha! Are Caught!'

My Glass Shall Not Persuade Me I Am Old, So Long As Youth And Thou Are Of One Date; But When In Thee Time's Furrows I Behold, Then Look I Death My Days Should Expiate.

Neither A Borrower Nor A Lender Be.

Your Cause Of Sorrow Must Not Be Measured By His Worth, For Then It Hath No End.

Sweet Are The Uses Of Adversity