The Common Curse Of Mankind,

True Apothecary Thy Drugs Art Quick

I Will Do Anything, Nerissa, Ere I'll Be Married To A Sponge.

A Kind Of Excellent Dumb Discourse.

Thou Art Sad; Get Thee A Wife, Get Thee A Wife!

Fear No More The Heat O' Th' Sun Nor The Furious Winters' Rages; Thou Thy Worldly Task Hast Done, Home Art Gone, And Ta'en Thy Wages. Golden Lads And Girls All Must, As Chimney-sweepers, Come To Dust.