Words Are Easy, Like The Wind; Faithful

Every True Man's Apparel Fits Your Thief.

A Cup Of Hot Wine With Not A Drop Of Allaying Tiber In 't.

O Good Old Man, How Well In Thee Appears The Constant Service Of The Antique World, When Service Sweat For Duty, Not For Meed! Thou Art Not For The Fashion Of These Times, Where None Will Sweat But For Promotion, And Having That Do Choke Their Service Up Even With The Having. . . .

Sweet Recreation Barred, What Doth Ensue But Moody And Dull Melancholy, Kinsman To Grim And Comfortless Despair.

Give Me My Robe, Put On My Crown; I Have Immortal Longings In Me.