She Moves Me Not, Or Not Removes

Canst Thou Not Minister To A Mind Diseased, Pluck From The Memory A Rooted Sorrow, Raze Out The Written Troubles Of The Brain

It Comes To Pass Oft That A Terrible Oath, With A Swaggering Accent Sharply Twanged Off, Gives Manhood More Approbation Than Ever Proof Itself Would Have Earned Him.

To England Will I Steal, And There I'll Steal.

My Joy Is Death- Death, At Whose Name I Oft Have Been Afeard, Because I Wish'd This World's Eternity.

I 'gin To Be Aweary Of The Sun, And Wish Th' Estate O' Th' World Were Now Undone.