Indeed There's A Woundy Luck In Names.

Freedom Doth With Degree Dispense.

Indeed There's A Woundy Luck In Names.

Whom The Disease Of Talking Still Once Posses-seth, He Can Never Hold His Peace.

A New Disease? I Know Not, New Or Old, But It May Well Be Called Poor Mortals Plague For, Like A Pestilence, It Doth Infect The Houses Of The Brain Till Not A Thought, Or Motion, In The Mind, Be Free From The Black Poison Of Suspect.

Princes That Would Their People Should Do Well Must At Themselves Begin, As At The Head; For Men, By Their Example, Pattern Out Their Limitations, And Regard Of Laws: A Virtuous Court A World To Virtue Draws.