To Whom God Will, There Be The

By Heaven, I'll Make A Ghost Of Him That Lets Me.

The Best Is Yet To Come.

He Does Me Double Wrong That Wounds Me With The Flatteries Of His Tongue.

Why, What Is Pomp, Rule, Reign, But Earth And Dust? And, Live We How We Can, Yet Die We Must.

You Are Not Worth Another Word, Else I'd Call You Knave.