O Fortune, Fortune! All Men Call Thee

Many Strokes, Though With A Little Axe, Hew Down And Fell The Hardest-timber'd Oak.

He That Has A House To Put's Head In Has A Good Head-piece.

Reputation, Reputation, Reputation! O, I Ha' Lost My Reputation, I Ha' Lost The Immortal Part Of Myself, And What Remains Is Bestial!

I Hope To See London Once Ere I Die.

And Yet, By Heaven, I Think My Love As Rare As Any She Belied With False Compare.