And Nothing Is, But What Is Not.

Travelers Must Be Content.

No Longer Mourn For Me When I Am Dead Than You Shall Hear The Surly Sullen Bell Give Warning To The World That I Am Fled From This Vile World, With Vilest Worms To Dwell.

I Will Be Brief. Your Noble Son Is Mad.

An Old Man, Broken With The Storms Of State, Is Come To Lay His Weary Bones Among Ye; Give Him A Little Earth For Charity!

A Woman Impudent And Mannish Grown Is Not More Loath'd Than An Effeminate Man.