I Have More Care To Stay Than

Get Thee Glass Eyes, And Like A Scurvy Politician, Seem To See The Things Thou Dost Not.

This Sleep Is Sound Indeed; This Is A Sleep That From This Golden Rigol Hath Divorc'd So Many English Kings.

For Thy Sweet Love Remember'd Such Wealth Brings That Then I Scorn To Change My State With Kings.

Just Death, Kind Umpire Of Men's Miseries.

Make Less Thy Body Hence, And More Thy Grace. Leave Gormandizing.