By the apostle Paul, shadows tonight Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers.

Yield not thy neck To fortunes yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance.

O Judgment ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason !

Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads And recks not his own read.

I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath; Who shuns not to break one will sure crack both.

A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yond justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: change places; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief?

On Rumor's tongue continual slanders ride.