The Sands Are Number'd That Make Up

A Young Man Married Is A Man That's Marred.

We See Which Way The Stream Of Time Doth Run.

I Think The King Is But A Man As I Am: The Violet Smells To Him As It Doth To Me.

I Have Heard Of Your Paintings Too, Well Enough; God Has Given You One Face, And You Make Yourselves Another: You Jig, You Amble, And You Lisp, And Nick-name God's Creatures, And Make Your Wantonness Your Ignorance. Go To, I'll No More On't; It Hath Made Me Mad.

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!