Truth Is Truth To The End Of

Thou Frothy Tickle-brained Hedge-pig!

Let Him Smell His Way To Dover!

My Brain More Busy Than The Labouring Spider Weaves Tedious Snares To Trap Mine Enemies.

No Reckoning Made, But Sent To My Account With All My Imperfections On My Head.

And To Be Merry Best Becomes You; For, Out Of Question, You Were Born In A Merry Hour. Beatrice No, Sure, My Lord, My Mother Cried; But Then There Was A Star Danced, And Under That Was I Born.