If What I Do Prove Well, It

O Time The Fatal Wrack Of Mortal Things, That Draws Oblivion's Curtains Over Kings; Their Sumptuous Monuments, Men Know Them Not, Their Names Without A Record Are Forgot, Their Parts, Their Ports, Their Pomps All Laid In Th' Dust Nor Wit Nor Gold, Nor Buildings Scape Time's Rust; But He Whose Name Is Graved In The White Stone Shall Last And Shine When All Of These Are Gone.

If Ever Two Were One, Then Surely We. If Ever Man Were Loved By Wife, Then Thee.

Sweet Words Are Like Honey, A Little May Refresh, But Too Much Gluts The Stomach.

Art Can Do Much, But This Maxim's Most Sure/a Weak Or Wounded Brain Admits No Cure.

Youth Is The Time Of Getting, Middle Age Of Improving, And Old Age Of Spending.