Drink Down All Unkindness.

Each Present Joy Or Sorrow Seems The Chief.

Corruption Wins Not More Than Honesty.

The Proverb Is Something Musty.

Canst Thou Not Minister To A Mind Diseased, Pluck From The Memory A Rooted Sorrow, Raze Out The Written Troubles Of The Brain

My Cake Is Dough, But I'll In Among The Rest, Out Of Hope Of All But My Share Of The Feast.