Love Is The Greatest Of Dreams, Yet

Stay, My Lord, And Let Your Reason With Your Choler Question What 'tis You Go About: To Climb Steep Hills Requires Slow Pace At First: Anger Is Like A Full-hot Horse, Who Being Allow'd His Way, Self-mettle Tires Him. Not A Man In England Can Advise Me Like You: Be To Yourself As You Would To Your Friend.

A Thousand Moral Paintings I Can Show That Shall Demonstrate These Quick Blows Of Fortune's More Pregnantly Than Words.

Ay, That Incestuous, That Adulterate Beast, With Witchcraft Of His Wit, With Traitorous Gifts- O Wicked Wit And Gifts, That Have The Power So To Seduce!

The Peace Of Heaven Is Theirs That Lift Their Swords, In Such A Just And Charitable War.

The Worm Is Not To Be Trusted.