Tis Time To Fear When Tyrants Seem

My Hounds Are Bred Out Of The Spartan Kind; So Flew'd, So Sanded; Their Heads Are Hung With Ears That Sweep Away The Morning Dew.

New Customs, Though They Be Never So Ridiculous (nay, Let Em Be Unmanly), Yet Are Followed.

What Should A Man Do But Be Merry? For Look You How Cheerfully My Mother Looks, And My Father Died Within's Two Hours.

They Told Me I Was Everything. 'tis A Lie, I Am Not Ague-proof.

And Oft, My Jealousy Shapes Faults That Are Not.