The Empty Vessel Makes The Loudest Sound.

Do Not Spread The Compost On The Weeds.

It Is War's Prize To Take All Vantages; And Ten To One Is No Impeach Of Valor.

What Wouldst Thou Do, Old Man? Think'st Thou That Duty Shall Have Dread To Speak When Power To Flattery Bows?

When Truth Kills Truth, O Devilish Holy Fray!

Let Fame, That All Hunt After In Their Lives, Live Regist'red Upon Our Brazen Tombs And Then Grace Us In The Disgrace Of Death; When, Spite Of Cormorant Devouring Time, Th' Endeavor Of This Present Breath May Buy That Honor Which Shall Bate His Scythe's Keen Edge And Make Us Heirs Of All Eternity.