Taste Your Legs, Sire: Put Them Into

Thou Know'st 'tis Common; All That Lives Must Die, Passing Through Nature To Eternity.

Let Us Be Diana's Foresters, Gentlemen Of The Shade, Minions Of The Moon

I Scorn You, Scurvy Companion.

And Thou, All-shaking Thunder, Strike Flat The Thick Rotundity O' The World! Crack Nature's Moulds, All Germens Spill At Once That Makes Ingrateful Man!

I Would With Such Perfection Govern, Sir, T'excel The Golden Age.