The Rain, It Raineth Every

Ay, But To Die, And Go We Know Not Where.

To Beguile The Time, Look Like The Time. Bear Welcome In Your Eye, Your Hand, Your Tongue.

Good Morrow, Fair Ones; Pray You, If You Know, Where In The Purlieus Of This Forest Stands A Sheep-cote Fenc'd About With Olive Trees?

They Are Hare-brain'd Slaves.

Lend Less Than You Owe.