We All Are Men, In Our Own

Tired With All These, For Restful Death I Cry.

Now Old Desire Doth In His Deathbed Lie, And Young Affection Gapes To Be His Heir; That Fair For Which Love Groan'd For And Would Die, With Tender Juliet Match'd, Is Now Not Fair.

I Myself Am Best When Least In Company.

The Common Curse Of Mankind, Folly And Ignorance, Be Thine In Great Revenue!

I Can See He's Not In Your Good Books,' Said The Messenger. 'no, And If He Were I Would Burn My Library.