A Wicked Conscience Mouldeth Goblins

How Much Salt Water Thrown Away In Waste/ To Season Love, That Of It Doth Not Taste.

Some Are Born Great, Some Achieve Greatness, And Some Have Greatness Thrust Upon Them.

World, World, O World! But That Thy Strange Mutations Make Us Hate Thee/ Life Would Not Yield To Age.

So Loving To My Mother, That He Might Not Beteem The Winds Of Heaven, Visit Her Face' Too Roughly.

Neither A Borrower Nor A Lender Be, For Loan Oft Loses Both Itself And Friend, And Borrowing Dulls The Edge Of Husbandry.