Lady, With Me, With Me Thy Fortune

Virtue Itself Turns Vice, Being Misapplied, And Vice Sometime By Action Dignified.

The Venom Clamours Of A Jealous Woman Poison More Deadly Than A Mad Dog's Tooth.

So. Lie There, My Art.

Good Old Grandsire ... We Shall Be Joyful Of Thy Company.

My Thoughts Are Whirled Like A Potter's Wheel; I Know Not Where I Am Nor What I Do.