He Wears The Rose Of

Slanders, Sir, For The Satirical Rogue Says Here That Old Men Have Grey Beards, That Their Faces Are Wrinkled, Their Eyes Purging Think Amber And Plum-tree Gum, And That They Have A Plentiful Lack Of Wit, Together With Most Weak Hams.

The Play's The Thing, Wherein I'll Catch The Conscience Of The King.

If This Were Played Upon A Stage Now, I Could Condemn It As An Improbable Fiction.

As Full Of Spirit As The Month Of May, And As Gorgeous As The Sun In Midsummer.

My Soul Is In The Sky.