So Many Miseries Have Craz'd My Voice,

Away, You Cut-purse Rascal! You Filthy Bung, Away! By This Wine, I'll Thrust My Knife In Your Mouldy Chaps, An You Play The Saucy Cuttle With Me. Away, You Bottle-ale Rascal! You Basket-hilt Stale Juggler, You!

A Very Ancient And Fish-like Smell.

Sufferance Is The Badge Of All Our Tribe.

There Is None But He Whose Being I Do Fear; And Under Him My Genius Is Rebuked, As It Is Said Mark Antony's Was By Caesar.

I Do Love My Country's Good With A Respect More Tender, More Holy And Profound, Then Mine Own Life, My Dear Wife's Estimate, Her Womb Increase, And Treasure Of My Loins.