How Low Am I, Thou Painted Maypole?

He Uses His Folly Like A Stalking-horse, And Under The Presentation Of That He Shoots His Wit.

Some Glory In Their Birth , Some In Their Skill , Some In Their Wealth , Some In Their Bodies' Force , Some In Their Garments, Though New-fangled Ill; Some In Their Hawks And Hounds , Some In Their Horse ; And Every Humor Hath His Adjunct Pleasure , Wherein It Finds A Joy Above The Rest .

The Due Of Honor In No Point Omit.

I Can Hardly Forbear Hurling Things At Him.

Forever, And Forever, Farewell, Cassius! If We Do Meet Again, Why, We Shall Smile; If Not, Why Then This Parting Was Well Made.