Crack'd In Pieces By Malignant

I Will Kill Thee A Hundred And Fifty Ways.

Tis An Ill Cook That Cannot Lick His Own Fingers.

Wisely, I Say, I Am A Bachelor.

Nay, We Must Think Men Are Not Gods, Nor Of Them Look For Such Observancy As Fits The Bridal.

The Glowworm Shows The Matin To Be Near And Gins To Pale His Uneffectual Fire.