Tax Not So Bad A Voice To

Tear-falling Pity Dwells Not In This Eye.

Take Physic, Pomp; Expose Thyself To Feel What Wretches Feel, That Thou Mayst Shake The Superflux To Them And Show The Heavens More Just.

Finish, Good Lady; The Bright Day Is Done, And We Are For The Dark.

The Seeming Truth Which Cunning Times Put On To Entrap The Wisest.

I Feel It Gone, Yet Know Not When It Left.