Sin Will Pluck On Sin.

Tis Not A Year Or Two Shows Us A Man: They Are All But Stomachs, And We All But Food; They Eat Us Hungerly, And When They Are Full They Belch Us.

Thou Art A Castilian King Urinal!

Some There Be That Shadows Kiss; Such Have But A Shadow's Bliss.

Every True Man's Apparel Fits Your Thief.

You Speak An Infinite Deal Of Nothing.