Behold The Threaden Sails, Borne With The

My Charity Is Outrage, Life My Shame; And In That Shame Still Live My Sorrow's Rage!

A Very Honest Woman But Something Given To Lie

When He Shall Die, Take Him And Cut Him Out In Little Stars, And He Will Make The Face Of Heaven So Fine That All The World Will Be In Love With Night And Pay No Worship To The Garish Sun.

Do Not, As Some Ungracious Pastors Do, Show Me The Steep And Thorny Way To Heaven; Whilst, Like A Puff'd And Reckless Libertine, Himself The Primrose Path Of Dalliance Treads And Recks Not His Own Read.

Speak The Speech, I Pray You, As I Pronounce It To You, Trippingly On The Tongue; But If You Mouth It, As Many Of Your Players Do, I Had As Lief The Town-crier Spoke My Lines.