So many horrid Ghosts.

If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.

So curses all Eve's daughters of what complexion soever.

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?

What need the bridge much broader than the flood?

Care for us! True, indeed! They ne'er cared for us yet: suffer us to famish, and their storehouses crammed with grain; make edicts for usury, to support usurers; repeal daily any wholesome act established against the rich, and provide more piercing statutes daily to chain up and restrain the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they will; and there's all the love they bear us.

My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind; So flew'd, so sanded; their heads are hung with ears that sweep away the morning dew.