We Suffer A Lot The Few Things

Either Our History Shall With Full Mouth Speak Freely Of Our Acts, Or Else Our Grave, Like Turkish Mute, Shall Have A Tongueless Mouth, Not Worshipped With A Waxen Epitaph.

Wine Loved I Deeply, Dice Dearly.

Many Dream Not To Find, Neither Deserve, And Yet Are Steeped In Favors.

Drown Thyself? Drown Cats And Blind Puppies.

Tired With All These For Restful Death I Cry, As To Behold Desert A Beggar Born, And Needy Nothing Trimmed In Jollity, And Purest Faith Unhappily Forsworn.