How Use Doth Breed A Habit In

A Poor Thing, Perhaps, But My Own.

It Easeth Some, Though None It Ever Cured, To Think Their Dolour Others Have Endured.

Out, You Tallow-face! You Baggage!

Nymph, In Thy Orisons Be All My Sins Remembered!

Why Should We Rise Because 'tis Light? Did We Lie Down Because T'was Night?