Our Whole Life Is Like A Play.

Soul Of The Age! The Applause! Delight! The Wonder Of Our Stage!

Nor For My Peace Will I Go Far, As Wanderers Do, That Still Do Roam, But Make My Strengths, Such As They Are, Here In My Bosom, And At Home.

Hang Sorrow, Care'll Kill A Cat.

It Holds For Good Polity Ever, To Have That Outwardly In Vilest Estimation, Which Inwardly Is Most Dear To Us.

O! How Vain And Vile A Passion Is This Fear! What Base Uncomely Things It Makes Men Do.