Go Wisely And Slowly. Those

What A Deformed Thief This Fashion Is.

I Go, I Go, Look How I Go, Swifter Than An Arrow From A Bow

Courage And Comfort, All Shall Yet Go Well

Fat Paunches Have Lean Pates, And Dainty Bits Make Rich The Ribs, But Backrout Quite The Wits.

If There Were Reason For These Miseries, Then Into Limits Could I Bind My Woes. If The Winds Rages, Doth Not The Sea Wax Mad, Threat'ning The Welkin With Its Big-swoll'n Face? And Wilt Though Have A Reason For This Coil? I Am The Sea. Hark How Her Sighs Doth Blow. She Is The Weeping Welkin, I The Earth.