All Is Well Ended, If The Suit

My Thoughts Are Whirled Like A Potter's Wheel; I Know Not Where I Am Nor What I Do.

How Many Things By Season Seasoned Are To Their Right Praise And True Perfection!

Small To Greater Matters Must Give Way.

Crowns Have Their Compass-length Of Days Their Date- Triumphs Their Tomb-felicity, Her Fate- Of Nought But Earth Can Earth Make Us Partaker, But Knowledge Makes A King Most Like His Maker.

I Am Afeard There Are Few Die Well That Die In Battle, For How Can They Charitably Dispose Of Anything When Blood Is Their Argument?