When Truth Kills Truth, O Devilish Holy

He Wears The Rose Of Youth Upon Him.

Time Hath Not Yet So Dried This Blood Of Mine, Nor Age So Eat Up My Invention, Nor Fortune Made Such Havoc Of My Means, Nor My Bad Life Reft Me So Much Of Friends, But They Shall Find Awaked In Such A Kind Both Strength Of Limb And Policy Of Mind, Ability In Means, And Choice Of Friends, To Quit Me Of Them Throughly.

Whose Heart The Accustom'd Sight Of Death Makes Hard.

Tis A Cruelty To Load A Fallen Man.

Melancholy Is The Nurse Of Frenzy.