I Will Be Brief. Your Noble Son

We See Which Way The Stream Of Time Doth Run.

We Have Some Salt Of Our Youth In Us.

Liberty Plucks Justice By The Nose; The Baby Beats The Nurse, And Quite Athwart Goes All Decorum.

The Cunning Livery Of Hell.

It Warms The Very Sickness In My Heart, That I Shall Live And Tell Him To His Teeth, "thus Diddest Thou;"