Modest Doubt Is Called The Beacon Of

My Pride Fell With My Fortunes.

I Am Sir Oracle, And When I Ope My Lips, Let No Dog Bark.

Doubt Thou The Stars Are Fire; Doubt That The Sun Doth Move; Doubt Truth To Be A Liar; But Never Doubt I Love.

At Christmas I No More Desire A Rose Than Wish A Snow In May's New-fangled Mirth; But Like Of Each Thing That In Season Grows.

The Poor World Is Almost Six Thousand Years Old, And In All This Time There Was Not Any Man Died In His Own Person, Videlicet, In A Love-cause.