I Will Praise Any Man That Will

Come My Spade. There Is No Ancient Gentlemen But Gardeners, Ditchers, And Grave-makers; They Hold Up Adam's Profession.

O, How I Faint When I Of You Do Write, Knowing A Better Spirit Doth Use Your Name, And In The Praise Thereof Spends All His Might To Make Me Tongue-tied Speaking Of Your Fame.

The Fashion Of The World Is To Avoid Cost, And You Encounter It.

All Dark And Comfortless.

Lay On, Mcduff, And Be Damned He Who First Cries, 'hold, Enough!