He That Is Proud Eats Up Himself:

Master, Go On, And I Will Follow Thee To The Last Gasp With Truth And Loyalty.

Time Is Like A Fashionable Host That Slightly Shakes His Parting Guest By The Hand, And With His Arm Outstretch'd, As He Would Fly, Grasps In The Comer.

Why, What Is Pomp, Rule, Reign, But Earth And Dust? And, Live We How We Can, Yet Die We Must.

Scratching Could Not Make It Worse, An't Were Such A Face As Yours Were.

The Art Of Our Necessities Is Strange That Can Make Vile Things Precious.