Fore God, You Have Here

I'll Break My Staff, Bury It Certain Fathoms In The Earth, And Deeper Than Did Ever Plummet Sound, I'll Drown My Book!

All's Well If All Ends Well.

That Skull Had A Tongue In It, And Could Sing Once: How The Knave Jowls It To The Ground, As If It Were Cain's Jaw-bone, That Did The First Murder! It Might Be The Pate Of A Politician, Which This Ass Now O'er-reaches; One That Would Circumvent God, Might It Not?

Vice Repeated Is Like The Wandering Wind, Blows Dust In Others' Eyes To Spread Itself.

Superfluity Comes Sooner By White Hairs, But Competency Lives Longer.