Rob me the exchequer. This sickness doth infect The very life-blood of our enterprise. That daffed the world aside, And bid it pass. His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm d, Rise from the ground like feather d Mercury, And vaulted with such ease into his seat As if an angel dropp d down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus And witch the world with noble horsemanship. The cankers of a calm world and a long peace.
Greatness knows itself.
To entertain the lag-end of my life With quiet hours. Honour pricks me on. Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere. This earth that bears thee dead Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. All Rights Reserved.