Thou Art A Very Ragged Wart.

Superfluity Comes Sooner By White Hairs, But Competency Lives Longer.

Is He On His Horse? O Happy Horse, To Bear The Weight Of Antony!

Your Tale, Sir, Would Cure Deafness.

I Have Ventured, Like Little Wanton Boys That Swim On Bladders, This Many Summers In A Sea Of Glory, But Far Beyond My Depth. My High-blown Pride At Length Broke Under Me, And Now Has Left Me, Weary And Old With Service, To The Mercy Of A Rude Stream That Must For Ever Hide Me.

'tis Dangerous To Take A Cold, To Sleep, To Drink; But I Tell You, My Lord Fool, Out Of This Nettle, Danger, We Pluck This Flower, Safety.