Many A True Word Hath Been Spoken

This Fell Sergeant, Death, Is Strict In His Arrest.

I Think The King Is But A Man As I Am: The Violet Smells To Him As It Doth To Me.

This Fellow Is Wise Enough To Play The Fool; And To Do That Well Craves A Kind Of Wit: He Must Observe Their Mood On Whom He Jests, The Quality Of Persons, And The Time, And, Like The Haggard, Check At Every Feather That Comes Before His Eye. This Is A Practise As Full Of Labour As A Wise Man's Art For Folly That He Wisely Shows Is Fit; But Wise Men, Folly-fall'n, Quite Taint Their Wit.

So May He Rest, His Faults Lie Gently On Him!

And Caesar Shall Go Forth.