To Be Generous, Guiltless, And Of A

Past And To Come, Seems Best; Things Present, Worse.

Thou Whoreson Zed! Thou Unnecessary Letter! My Lord, If You Will Give Me Leave, I Will Tread This Unbolted Villain Into Mortar, And Daub The Wall Of A Jakes With Him. *all Cheer For Shakespearean Insults*

Confusion Now Hath Made His Masterpiece.

Thou Art A Slave, Whom Fortune's Tender Arm With Favour Never Clasp'd; But Bred A Dog.

And The More Pity That Great Folk Should Have Count'nance In This World To Drown Or Hang Themselves More Than Their Even-christen.