Stars, Hide Your Fires; Let Not Light

There's Never A Villain Dwelling In All Denmark But He's An Arrant Knave.

A Very Ancient And Fish-like Smell.

With These Shreds They Vented Their Complainings, Which Being Answered And A Petition Granted Them, A Strange One, To Break The Heart Of Generosity, And Make Bold Power Look Pale, They Threw Their Caps As They Would Hang Them On The Horns O' Th' Moon, Shouting Their Emulation.

An Old Man, Broken With The Storms Of State, Is Come To Lay His Weary Bones Among Ye; Give Him A Little Earth For Charity!

For Such Things As You, I Can Scarce Think There's Any, Ye're So Slight.