And sooner shall the sun fall from his sphere Than Tamburlaine be slain or overcome.

Is it not brave to be a king, Techelles? Usumcasane and Theridamas, Is it not passing brave to be a king, And ride in triumph through Persepolis?

From jigging veins of rhyming mother wits, And such conceits as clownage keeps in pay, We'll lead you to the stately tent of war, Where you shall hear the Scyt…

All they that love not tobacco and boys are fools.