Nothing Comes Amiss, So Money

God's Will! My Liege, Would You And I Alone, Without More Help, Could Fight This Royal Battle!

Earth-treading Stars That Make Dark Heaven Light

There Are A Sort Of Men, Whose Visages Do Cream And Mantle, Like A Standing Pond; And Do A Willful Stillness Entertain, With Purpose To Be Dressed In An Opinion Of Wisdom, Gravity Profound Conceit; As Who Should Say, I Am Sir Oracle, And When I Ope My Lips, Let No Dog Bark!

I Am Now Of All Humors That Have Showed Themselves Humors Since The Old Days Of Goodman Adam To The Pupil Age Of This Present Twelve O'clock At Midnight.

O Good Old Man, How Well In Thee Appears The Constant Service Of The Antique World, When Service Sweat For Duty, Not For Meed! Thou Art Not For The Fashion Of These Times, Where None Will Sweat But For Promotion, And Having That Do Choke Their Service Up Even With The Having. . . .