Mirth Cannot Move A Soul In Agony.

Glory Is Like A Circle In The Water, Which Never Ceaseth To Enlarge Itself, Till, By Broad Spreading, It Disperse To Naught.

As Chaste As Is The Bud Ere It Be Blown.

Affection Faints Not Like A Pale-faced Coward, But Then Woos Best When Most His Choice Is Froward.

There's Husbandry In Heaven; Their Candles Are All Out.

What Fates Impose, That Men Must Needs Abide; It Boots Not To Resist Both Wind And Tide.