Virtue Is Chok'd With Foul Ambition

I Had Rather Be A Kitten, And Cry Mew, Than One Of These Same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I Had Rather Heare A Brazen Candlestick Turn'd, Or A Dry Wheele Grate On The Axle-tree, And That Would Set My Teeth Nothing An Edge, Nothing So Much, As Mincing Poetrie.

I Shall Show The Cinders Of My Spirits Through The Ashes Of My Chance.

Advance Our Standards, Set Upon Our Foes; Our Ancient Word Of Courage, Fair Saint George, Inspire Us With The Spleen Of Fiery Dragons!

Tax Not So Bad A Voice To Slander Music Any More Than Once.

The Rain, It Raineth Every Day.