Death Is A Fearful Thing.

Let Them Obey That Knows Not How To Rule.

Tis Our Fast Intent To Shake All Cares And Business From Our Age, Conferring Them On Younger Strengths, While We Unburdened Crawl Toward Death.

Britain Is A World By Itself, And We Will Nothing Pay For Wearing Our Own Noses.

Stay, My Lord, And Let Your Reason With Your Choler Question What 'tis You Go About: To Climb Steep Hills Requires Slow Pace At First: Anger Is Like A Full-hot Horse, Who Being Allow'd His Way, Self-mettle Tires Him. Not A Man In England Can Advise Me Like You: Be To Yourself As You Would To Your Friend.

To Take Arms Against A Sea Of Troubles.