He That Is Giddy Thinks The World

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!

Thou Canst Not Speak Of What Thou Dost Not Feel.

Light Seeking Light Doth Light Of Light Beguile: So, Ere You Find Where Light In Darkness Lies, Your Light Grows Dark By Losing Of Your Eyes.

Rumour Doth Double, Like The Voice And Echo, The Numbers Of The Feared.

I Am Asham'd That Women Are So Simple To Offer War Where They Should Kneel For Peace.