Hang There Like Fruit, My Soul, Till

The Small Amount Of Foolery Wise Men Have Makes A Great Show.

I See Men's Judgments Are A Parcel Of Their Fortunes; And Things Outward Do Draw The Inward Quality After Them, To Suffer All Alike.

Though Death Be Poor, It Ends A Mortal Woe.

Should All Despair That Have Revolted Wives, The Tenth Of Mankind Would Hang Themselves.

I Am Too Old To Fawn Upon A Nurse, Too Far In Years To Be A Pupil Now.