The Coward Dies A Thousand Deaths, The

Care Is No Cure, But Rather Corrosive, For Things That Are Not To Be Remedied.

Vile Worm, Thou Wast O'erlook'd Even In Thy Birth.

All That Glisters Is Not Gold; Often Have You Heard That Told.

To Kill, I Grant, Is Sin's Extremest Gust; But, In Defence, By Mercy, 'tis Most Just.

Now I Am Past All Comforts Here, But Prayer.