I Am Sir Oracle, And When I

Oh! It Offends Me To The Soul To Hear A Robust Periwig-pated Fellow, Tear A Passion To Tatters, To Very Rags, To Split The Ears Of The Groundlings.

Whatever Praises Itself But In The Deed, Devours The Deed In The Praise.

Foul Fiend Of France And Hag Of All Despite, Encompassed With Thy Lustful Paramours, Becomes It Thee To Taunt His Valiant Age And Twit With Cowardice A Man Half Dead?

There Is A Tide In The Affairs Of Men

You Are Made Rather To Wonder At The Things You Hear Than To Work Any.