Farewell! Thou Art Too Dear For My

. . . Nothing In His Life Became Him Like The Leaving It; He Died As One That Had Been Studied In His Death To Throw Away The Dearest Thing He Owed, As 'twere A Careless Trifle.

How Use Doth Breed A Habit In A Man.

I Must To The Barber's, Monsieur, For Methinks I Am Marvellous Hairy About The Face.

I'll Never Be Such A Gosling To Obey Instinct, But Stand As Is A Man Were Author Of Himself And Knew No Other Kin.

How Many Things By Season Seasoned Are To Their Right Praise And True Perfection!