Hardness Ever Of Hardness Is Mother.

England Is Safe, If True Within Itself.

The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen Arrows Make.

Indeed, Sir, He That Sleeps Feels Not The Toothache; But A Man That Were To Sleep Your Sleep, And A Hangman To Help Him To Bed, I Think He Would Change Places With His Officer; For Look You, Sir, You Know Not Which Way You Shall Go.

There's Not The Smallest Orb Which Thou Behold'st But In His Motion Like An Angel Sings.

Bosom Upon My Counsel; You'll Find It Wholesome.