The Earth, That Is Nature's Mother, Is

I Must To The Barber's, Monsieur, For Methinks I Am Marvellous Hairy About The Face.

I Feel Within Me A Peace Above All Earthly Dignities, A Still And Quiet Conscience.

Honest Plain Words Best Pierce The Ear Of Grief.

Remember Thee! Ay, Thou Poor Ghost, While Memory Holds A Seat In This Distracted Globe.

Now The Melancholy Of God Protect Thee, And The Tailor Make Thy Doublet Of Changable Taffata, For Thy Mind Is A Very Opal. I Would Have Men Of Such Constancy Put To Sea, That Their Business Might Be Everything, And Their Intent Everywhere, For That's It, That Always Makes A Good Voyage Of Nothing.