Ideas Are The Very Coinage Of Your

This Fell Sergeant, Death, Is Strict In His Arrest.

The Web Of Our Life Is Of A Mingled Yarn, Good And Ill Together.

Ay, But Hearken, Sir; Though The Chameleon Love Can Feed On The Air, I Am One That Am Nourished By My Victuals, And Would Fain Have Meat.

There's Neither Honesty, Manhood, Nor Good Fellowship In Thee.

This Most Excellent Canopy, The Air, Look You, This Brave O-erhanging Firmament, This Majestical Roof Fretted With Golden Fire.