The Whirligig Of Time Brings

A Hand As Fruitful As The Land That Feeds Us; His Dew Falls Everywhere.

O Braggart Vile And Damned Furious Wight!

Oh God! That One Might Read The Book Of Fate, And See The Revolution Of The Times Make Mountains Level, And The Continent, Weary Of Solid Firmness, Melt Itself Into The Sea.

I Am A Great Eater Of Beef, And I Believe That Does Harm To My Wit.

Where The Bee Sucks, There Suck I In The Cow-slip's Bell I Lie There I Couch When Owls Do Cry