Thou Whoreson, Senseless Villain!

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

The Arms Are Fair, When The Intent Of Bearing Them Is Just.

Write Till Your Ink Be Dry, And With Your Tears Moist It Again, And Frame Some Feeling Line That May Discover Such Integrity.

He Doth Nothing But Talk Of His Horses.

For He Was Likely, Had He Been Put On, To Have Proved Most Royally.