All Offences Come From The Heart.

Be Checked For Silence, But Never Taxed For Speech.

Chain Me With Roaring Bears; Or Shut Me Nightly In A Charnel-house, O'er-covered Quite With Dead Men's Rattling Bones, With Reeky Shanks And Yellow Chapless Skulls; Or Bid Me Go Into A New-made Grave, And Hide Me With A Dead Man In His Shroud; Things That, To Hear Them Told, Have Made Me Tremble; And I Will Do It Without Fear Or Doubt, To Live An Unstain'd Wife Of My Sweet Love.

I Once Did Hold It, As Our Statists Do, A Baseness To Write Fair, And Labour'd Much How To Forget That Learning; But, Sir, Now It Did Me Yeoman's Service.

Should The Poor Be Flattered? No; Let The Candied Tongue Lick Absurd Pomp, And Crook The Pregnant Hinges Of The Knee Where Thrift May Follow Fawning.

You Have Lost No Reputation At All, Unless You Repute Yourself Such A Loser.