Give me mine angle, we'll to th' river: there, My music playing far off, I will betray Tawny-finned fishes. My bended hook shall pierce Their slimy jaws; and as I draw them up, I'll think them every one an Antony, And say, 'Ah, ha! are caught!'

Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries.

Here will be an old abusing of God's patience and the king's English.

Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of Our human generation you shall find.

Music, moody food Of us that trade in love.

I have drunk and seen the spider.

The force of his own merit makes his way-a gift that heaven gives for him.